The Selection and the Spy
by GreenWithAwesome
Summary: Prince Roy is a party animal, but his last hurrah leaves him with an angry mother and embarrassed nation. To temper him, the queen instates his Selection. Roy doesn't take it seriously... until he finds out that some of the Selected are spies for the rebels. Rebels looking to overthrow the monarchy. And it's up to him to find out whom. (SYOC Closed)
1. Rebel Spies and Naked Butts

The only thing Prince Roy could remember from last night was that he puked on Lady Katrina's blue wedge heels. And that he hadn't regretted a thing.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd come to be in his bed, the canopy drowning the four posters in velvet curtain, giving him privacy from the rest of his bedroom. He wasn't entirely sure why he was still dressed in his pinstripe suit, and how his hair was still tied into a, albeit messy, top knot.

He _was_ sure how he got this blazing headache. Too much alcohol.

Roy groaned, yanking up his duvet convers. Fever rippled through his suit, yet he could still feel a chill dancing along his skin. Spots of black splattered his memories like shadowy patchwork, so when he tried picturing the crazy party he went to yesterday, he couldn't remember a thing – apart from Lady Katrina's shoes.

The corners of his eyes hurt from opening them widely, and he tossed himself over again and buried his face into the duvet. What time was it? It felt like three in the morning. Alas, with the winter light filtering through the canopy, it was probably about midday.

It was a shame about his shattered memories. Roy could only imagine how hilarious her reaction was.

Maybe something would return to him as the day went on.

A distinctive _click_ sounded, soft and unassuming, and Roy heard the door to his room opened. He shrank into his duvet. Perhaps, if he pretended to be asleep, whoever it was would go away.

"Your Highness. I see you are awake."

Roy grumbled. Trust his favourite valet in the palace to figure it out without even cracking open the canopy.

The valet did. Clean, fresh light drove into Roy's eyes, and he squirmed.

"Ugh, Rudy, stop! I can feel my eyes burning!"

Rudy's eyebrows furrowed. With his bright red hair tied into a neat ponytail, it was hard to tell whether or not he was frantic.

"You'll soon feel your ears burning too, if you don't get up. Her Majesty is coming for you – and she is _angry_."

Roy let out another groan. Mother was angry with him. What a surprise.

Rudy tugged on the duvet. "She's right around the corner. I'm trying to save you further embarrassment, here."

 _Five more minutes_ , Roy thought. Clinging to his duvet like a koala to a tree, he let out a low whine and clenched his eyes shut. "It's fine. I'll deal with her."

Rudy clucked his tongue. "Your idea of _dealing_ with a person couldn't soothe a tranquilised _sloth_ , let alone Her Majesty—"

The door flew open, and Roy jerked awake, flinging his eyes open and straightening his back. He snuck a glance at the parted canopy, only to see his mother standing at the foot of his bed, a collection of papers in her hand. Her hair was stringy and black, peppered with grey, falling loose down her chest. Roy didn't think it was possible for her to look any more Korean with her _hanbok_ , a traditional Korean dress. The chest and sleeves were blue, but the skirt and cummerbund, just below her chest, were navy. Dark and foreboding. It was a dress she wore for formal occasions.

She'd just escaped from a meeting, no doubt. Probably because of whatever she wanted to accuse Roy with.

Rudy gulped. "Queen Ji-Yu—"

" _Out_ , Rudy," she commanded. "I need to have a word with my _son_."

Rudy hightailed out of the room without hesitation, nearly running into someone in the process.

It took Roy a moment to recognise his father, peering into the room with a wary look. Probably wondering if it was safe, or it he'd trip on empty bottles of vodka.

Queen Ji-Yu's obsidian glare speared into Roy, but she didn't take her eyes off him as she said, "Merrick, shut his door."

King Merrick tiptoed across the theshold and shut the door behind him. Taller than Ji-Yu, he peered over his shoulder at the room, his smile sympathetic. Always sympathetic.

Ji-Yu slapped down about twenty or so photographs, scattering on his messy duvet.

"Tell me what you see in _these_!"

Roy braced his arms behind him to sit up, trying to command his spine not to wobble, and peered groggily at a photograph. He recognised himself, his top-half stained with drinks, his bottom-half completely bare. He waved his butt at the camera. Luckily, that was the only thing the picture could capture. A pitcher of alcohol was in his hand, and his expression was curled into a wry smile.

These were pictures of the party last night. The party he had snuck out of the palace to attend. He had no memory of this, but it _looked_ like he was having fun. In fact, it looked totally _awesome_.

What did he see? Roy dared meet Ji-Yu's gaze, and managed a grin. "A well-proportioned buttocks?"

Ji-Yu snatched the photograph from him. Fire blazed in the form of blossoming red on her cheeks. "Do you think this is funny, Jun? Do you think waving your _derrière_ to the world will give Illéa a good reputation?!"

Not a good idea mentioning his butt, then.

Obviously he didn't agree to that. But he'd had a great time. Wasn't that the point of parties? He plucked another photograph – this time, he had his arm around two complete strangers, shot glasses in their hands. He didn't even recognise them, but at least in this picture he was fully covered.

"No, but I was having fun," he said, tossing the photograph back onto the pile. "Don't tell me you never went to a party, Mother."

Ji-Yu growled. "I never went to a party where I puked on someone and passed out, and I certainly never went to a party where I was _naked_."

" _Half_ naked, actually," Roy corrected, with a smug grin.

Ji-Yujabbed a finger at another photo. "Oh, no. _Fully_ naked."

Roy glanced to it. Yep, his chest and legs were bare. The photographer had had the decency to blur his private parts, at least.

"… Touché."

Ji-Yu let out an aggravated sigh, and pressed a hand to her forehead. "For heaven's sake, Jun. This is unacceptable for a prince to act like this. Do you know how embarrassing this is for you? For us?!"

Roy hadn't quite reached the _cringe from last night's photos_ phase, yet.

Merrick stepped around Ji-Yu, his sympathy unwavering. "Son, you're going to inherit the throne one day. You can't have wild parties like this when you're king."

Ji-Yu shot Merrick a sharp look. "Don't be so _nice_ to him. He needs to face the consequences for his actions." She looked back to Roy. "You will make a public apology on the Capital Report for your irresponsible behaviour."

Roy's chest clamped in, as if a black claw had grasped his heart. Make a _public_ apology? That was even more embarrassing than these photos. That was admitting that he had made a mistake. Roy never made mistakes.

He scrunched up his face. "And if I don't?"

"Then I will make that you never set _foot_ outside this palace until you're old and wrinkly. And I'll make sure every _single_ guard knows that if they sneak you out of the palace at all, they will be banished to _Eights_."

Roy gulped. That was a steep price to pay. Not for him, but for the guards. The guards didn't deserve it, not for his indiscretions.

Merrick frowned, facing her slightly. "Hold on, now, honey. We don't want to punish the guards, do we? When it is Roy's fault?"

Ji-Yu swivelled to face him, too. "I would much rather not, but _someone_ let him out last night. And I will make quite certain that no guard forgets his duty again." Her eyes lasered back into Roy with renewed aggravation. "Can you imagine the other lords and ladies of our court presenting us with _this_ during an important meeting? That's how we found out. I have never been more ashamed in my entire life."

For the first time, Roy felt guilt trickle down his spine, and he slouched into the comfort of his bed. The lords and ladies of the court were old, traditional, and total killjoys, but he still didn't want them to look down upon him or his family.

Ji-Yu seemed to straighten. "You think about the mess you made. I'm going back to work."

She swirled on her heels, her dress skirt flowing around her, yanked open the door and marched away. The din of her high heeled footsteps seemed to haunt Roy's ears, even after she'd long left. The silence was a relief in her absence.

Merrick sighed and shut the door again. The bed creaked when he sat on the edge of Roy's mattress, and he collected the photographs in his hand. Roy took the opportunity to lean back against his headboard and wrap the duvet around him, enveloping him in soft and calm. At least his scolding was over.

"Oh, son. Why?" said Merrick. He glanced at a particular photograph, before averting his gaze with a wrinkle of his nose. "Why do you insist on parties? What is the fascination?"

Roy wanted to laugh. When he was drunk, at least, he could forget about his overbearing mother and her desperate need to suck all the joy out of Roy's life. _You're the heir to the throne, Jun,_ he could imagine in her voice. _No parties, Jun! Write some reports, Jun! Fun is a crime punishable by death, Jun!_

"They're fun and enjoyable," he said, looking at his father. Most people would assume they had no blood connection – Merrick was a man with bright blond hair, festive green eyes, and a kind smile on his fair complexion. Roy, however, looked most like Ji-Yu – wide set eyes, dark brown hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, tanned skin.

Merrick bunched the photographs together. "Yes, but surely by the time you pass out, they lose their fun?"

Roy laughed, though it hurt his head to do so. "You have a lot to learn about my generation of partiers, Dad."

Merrick laughed, too. "I suppose I do. It has been about thirty years. Even then, I was more a bookish person, than anything." He fell to whispers. "Your mother was actually very much into parties."

Roy drew his head back – it pounded. "Really? _Mother_?"

Merrick grinned childishly, as if sharing a special secret. "Yes! She'd never admit it now, but I do recall holding an evening cocktail party during my Selection. She wore a beautiful white gown, I remember – but because she became quite fond of the sherry, she ended the night with a red dress, instead!"

He started to laugh – and Roy had to laugh along with him. At least Dad seemed to find some humour in the situation. Roy couldn't imagine his mother, heavy on the alcohol, and his father holding back her hair as she stuck her head down a toilet. And Roy definitely couldn't imagine his parents at his age, along with thirty-four other girls, competing in a Selection for his hand. The thought sent shivers down his spine. That burden must have been hell on earth.

Merrick cut his laughter short, and he shook his head with a quaint smile. "Please don't be too hard on her. She's very stressed at the moment."

At this, Roy sat up. "Why?"

Merrick rose to toss the photographs into Roy's wastebin. "There's been some rebel activity in Honduragua. We've been trying to clear it up, but it only seems to exacerbate every day. There's pockets in every province, but down south is the worst. Naturally, your mother has taken charge." He frowned harder. "They're… sending spies, son. _Spies_."

 _Spies_. The word made him feel faint. People sent to report to their masters on what they had learnt, maintaining cover as innocent bystanders. They could be here, in the palace, sapping information from the meetings Ji-Yu and Merrick attended. Stealing their plans. Working on counterattacks.

Roy whispered, "Spies? How do you know?"

Merrick sighed. "Our friends from the south uncovered a few of them. Your mother and I are worried they've infiltrated the court, or perhaps some of the province governing bodies. But, you know, she handles the stress much worse than I do."

Roy let the information sink in. The palace was meant to be the safest place in the entirely of Illéa. His home. Now he didn't even feel safe here.

He sighed. His suit clasped to his frame with sweat. A desperate need to shower and change pulsed through him.

"I should probably get up."

Merrick chuckled. "That you should, Roy. I should be going, too." He reached into his pocket, and produced a small bottle, plastic and opaque. "Here. I thought you might need these. For your hangover. The strong ones."

Roy smiled, taking the bottle. It rattled full with headache pills. "Thanks, Dad."

Merrick beamed back. "All right, I'll leave you to change." He reached for the doorknob, before freezing solid. The colour suddenly drained from his face.

Ice slid down Roy's veins. Something wasn't right. "What's with that face?"

"I... I just remembered," Merrick said, his voice pitching high. "Your mother... has mentioned that you have a Selection."

Alarms rang in Roy's ears, and his chest contracted so hard it felt like he hadn't breathed air for years.

A Selection.

 _A Selection._

He shot up from his bed. "Wait, what?!" he sputtered.

"Well, I best be going," Merrick yanked open the door, though his face was ridden with guilt. "Come find us later. When you're ready."

He scampered out.

"Wait, Dad! Come back!" Roy yelled, reaching a hand out. "You can't just drop a potential _Selection_ on me and leave!"

But Merrick was long gone.

Roy didn't have the mental capacity to shut his open jaw. He had questions, so many questions, about his proposed Selection. He hadn't agreed to anything of the sort – they rarely talked about Merrick and Ji-Yu's Selection, let alone a potential one for Roy.

The words revolved around in his head, and that initial feeling of confusion curdled into horror. He wasn't ready for a Selection. He was nineteen – in his prime years of _youth_. He didn't want to tie down his life with marriage and kinghood! He hadn't even managed to enjoy his teenage years yet!

Roy fell back against the pillow. Thirty-five girls. One of him. In any other situation, the thought may have excited him – but he knew this was just Mother's way of getting back to him. He hadn't proved he was ready to settle down and burden the crown, yet, but a wife would _make_ him ready.

No more parties. No more _fun_. Just… a bunch of girls. And with the rebels rising in south Illéa, and the potential for spies in every nook and cranny, how could he ever focus on anything _fun_ ever again?

He shut his eyes, and reopened them. The world looked the same, his headache blinding him. Mustering a breath, and large amounts of willpower, Roy threw his duvet off him, and rang for Rudy. With any luck, the whole Selection idea was just a phase.

Ji-Yu would come to her senses… right?

He had a sickening feeling she wouldn't.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Greetings, citizens of Illéa! I am here today to announce to you that Prince Roy will be holding a Selection! Thirty-five lucky girls will compete to win his heart. Think your girl can win? Enter, and find out!_

The Selection and the Spy, Submit Your Original Character Rules:

 **1\. No Mary Sues** (perfect characters with no flaws). I will ask either that you change your character extensively or resubmit a new character. If you need help with that, Google is your friend, or you can ask me!

 **2\. DIVERSITY**. Please give me some diverse characters! Non-white and non-straight characters (though they should at least be attracted to men) are fantastic and appreciated, less likely to be turned down, and more likely to advance further in the competition. I am also advocating for diverse personalities: give me some Celestes as well as Marlees!

 **3\. Do not name your character after an existing fictional character** if the name brings connotation to that specific character. No Celaenas, no Hermiones, no Katnisses (however, names like Rose, Tessa, and Cath will be accepted). It takes away from the story!

 **4.** Please **review at least occasionally**! Don't submit your character and then never appear again. I would love to know what you think about the portrayal of your character, and your opinion of the other characters, too. Root for someone! It's more fun! Again, I am obliged to let characters whose submitters review more often advance further through the competition.

 **5.** Please **fill the form out as much as possible**. The more detail you provide, the better I can write your character, the more likely they are to advance further through the competition.

 **6.** You may submit a character you have already submitted to another Selection SYOC, but please **rename them** (and I mean fully rename – don't just, e.g., swap their first and middle names). I want this Selection to be unique!

 **7.** At the moment, it is **one character per submitter**. This may change if I don't receive enough submissions, so keep an eye out on my profile for changes!

 **8.** I can reserve a province for you, but I won't keep them reserved forever!

 **9.** Please **PM me the form** , and use this format in the subject line: Forename and Surname, Age (in numbers), Caste Number (in letters), Province, Profession. For example, "America Singer, 17, Five, Carolina, Musician." No other submission methods will be accepted.

 **10.** Ask me for any questions!

And the most important thing to note:

 **Two of the Selected will be spies for the rebels; one spy will be revealed in the middle, the other spy will be revealed at the end**. Who will they be? No one knows. Once all characters are submitted, I will choose who the rebel spies are, incorporate it into their backstory (changing as little as possible) and write from there. The submitters will _not_ be told if their characters are spies. Does this mean they don't have a chance at winning? Of course not! They could win, and Illéa could go down in flames. Or, they could fall madly in love with Prince Roy, see the error of their ways, and abandon their rebel affinity. Time will tell!

Please note I am following the style of _The Heir_ , and only writing from Prince Roy's Point of View. It's much easier than switching between twenty-five plus other personalities!

 **Twenty-five characters will be accepted**. The other ten will be throwaways. Updates to submission status can be read on the summary or in my profile.

 **The form is on my profile**. This is my first SYOC fanfiction, so I have no idea what to expect. I have always wanted to write one, and after reading some of the fantastic Selection SYOCs here I thought I'd give it a go! I will try my best to make it entertaining and fun! Good luck!

All reviews, favourites and follows appreciated! Thanks for reading!

~ GreenWithAwesome

 **19th Jan 2017 EDIT:** Beefed up, fixed some errors.


	2. The Hangover Aftermath

By the time Prince Roy had showered, washed, and dressed, and drugged himself with headache pills to at least ease his hangover, it was nearly 2 p.m. Rudy had helped him pick out a particular subdued suit today – dull, slate grey, with a navy tie – to appease to Queen Ji-Yu's implied request that he try not to embarrass himself.

Roy slunk his way down to the dining hall, avoiding the hard stares from the non-workers of the palace. He passed a particular Madam Tremaine, and noted her disgusted frown as he swept by her. Well, if she was going to react like that, why did she look at the photos knowing what was on them? It took restraint from Roy to resist saying anything. At least the guards stayed as passive-faced as possible.

The dining hall had been laid out differently than Roy remembered. Usually, only three tables occupied the space – one for the royal family, two for guests and palace officials. Today, several butlers and maids had arranged the tables into an upside-down U-shape, with his family at the top of the upside-down U and about thirty-five more seats added down the prongs.

Roy snagged his breathing. Dear god, she was _serious_ about the Selection.

He shook his head. Perhaps they just had a host of guests coming, that just happened to match thirty-five.

Neither Ji-Yu nor Merrick sat on the head table. Instead, Roy's younger sister, Princess Gail, played with the silverware and attempted to make origami swans from the beige napkins. She was accompanied by her carer, Lanna, who sat next to her and quietly answered all of her questions.

Roy's stomach growled. The palace workers looked to him.

Momentary silence. Then, hasty bowing.

"Your Highness," they chorused.

Roy waved them off. "Dare I ask why you're laying out more than necessary sets of cutlery?"

The nearest butler replied, his face warped with confusion. "In early preparation of your Selection, Your Highness."

Roy grit his teeth. Damn. It _was_ happening. He hadn't even announced it to Illéa. His mother hadn't even deigned to share his _own_ Selection with _him_ herself, yet.

"Rooooy!" called a voice.

Roy broke from his thoughts; Gail waved a knife in the air madly, a wild grin on her face.

Lanna threw up a startled face. "Your Highness! Put that down!"

Roy ascended the podium to greet them. Princess Gail was the perfect mix of their parents – the colour between Ji-Yu's and Merrick's, her hair with Merrick's texture and Ji-Yu's colour. Her nose poked out from her face like a tiny turnip, like Merrick's, but her eyes sparkled brown, like Ji-Yu's. She put the fork down and fidgeted in his seat.

"You're having a Selection!" she yelled.

"Princess, we don't yell in the palace," said Lanna.

Lanna was nearly the total opposite – an older woman, perhaps in her fifties. Thin and lanky, with frizzy brown-grey hair. She was dark-skinned, and her eyes glimmered like obsidian.

Gail pouted, mumbled a weak "Sorry", and twiddled her thumbs – her body bounced on the chairs.

Roy ruffled Gail's hair. "What are you doing?"

"Making swans," Gail whispered, fingering a napkin. It was crudely shaped into a bird. " _Omma_ told me a story where they turn into a beautiful princess!"

Roy pouted. "She never read _me_ _The Swan Princess_."

Lanna laughed. "I suspect Queen Ji-Yu was rather reading you _How to Run a Country_."

The sad thing was that Lanna wasn't far off the mark.

He grinned and shook his head. "A great book for five-year olds, would recommend," he said. "Did either of you know I was having a Selection?"

Gail bounced up in her seat. "A Selection! A Selection! Roy can find his own Swan Princess!"

"I'd rather she just be a princess and not any particular breed of fowl," Roy replied with a wry smile.

Lanna laughed, but it soon dislodged for something more wary. Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, I knew about it. The queen announced it this morning to the palace. You _didn't_ know?"

Ah. No wonder Roy never heard about it. He was far too deep into hangover sleep.

His stomach growled again. He called a butler and asked him to bring him a bowl of cereal. The butler bowed and scampered off.

Lanna wrung her hands together. "So you didn't know, then?"

"Dad told me about an hour ago."

She leant back in her chair. "I see." Then, she smirked. "Having too much fun at your, ahem, _party_ , were you?"

Roy replayed the memory of the party in his mind – the banging music, the sweaty dancers, the drink stains and spills puddling on the floor. He could still recall the taste of the apple vodka on his tongue – and the taste when it returned to paint Lady Katrina's shoes. He glanced to Lanna with a knowing look. "You're too comfortable with me, you know that?"

At this, she grinned. "Well, I am the royal babysitter, am I not?" She stared into the ceiling, with a knowing smile. "I still remember when you ran around in diapers, smearing the walls with your—"

"Rooooooy," Gail cut through. "Are you going to marry a princess?"

"Your Highness, it's rude to interrupt people," scolded Lanna, but she did so with a kind smile.

Gail shuffled. "Sorry."

Roy thought on Gail's question. If he wanted to be technical, he wasn't marrying any princess. If anything, they were marrying the prince, and _becoming_ a princess. He didn't think Gail could understand that, though.

"Yeah, something like that," he said, ruffling her hair again.

She giggled. "I'll have a sister!" she exclaimed – her voice echoing off the walls. "We can try on pretty dresses and play hockey in the gardens!"

Roy stifled a laugh. "I hope not both at the same time."

The butler swept into the room, his coattails flowing behind him, and halted by Roy's side with a large platter. The requested bowl of cereal – but also two slices of buttered toast, a glass of orange juice, and a strange green liquid in a glass jar.

Roy pointed at the liquid. "Erm, what's this?"

"For the hangover, Your Highness."

He didn't dare sat it out loud, but it looked like the gunk he had produced all over Katrina's shoes. Turned out the whole palace knew about his misadventures last night.

"Thanks," Roy said, deciding to avoid the strange liquid, no matter how awful his hangover was, and instead tucked into the bowl of cereal.

What was he going to do? The Report was on Friday, in three days. How could he think of a way to cancel his upcoming Selection before he announced it to the entirety of Illéa, and the entire world?

How could he avoid making a stupid public apology?

" _Appa_ says the maids will find me soon," said Gail. "They're making my dress for the Report."

"Oh, really," Roy said absently.

Perhaps if he sat down and apologised to Ji-Yu, _earnestly_ , he could worm his way out. If he tried a puppy-dog face, like the ones Gail pulled whenever she 'accidentally' drew pictures on the walls with crayons, then perhaps he could just squeeze his way out. He stirred his cereal.

"I asked for a green dress!" Gail said.

"That's nice," said Roy, chewing laboriously on his cereal.

Ji-Yu was not easily convinced. He knew that. He'd known for nineteen years. If it was Merrick's decision, then he wouldn't even have to worry – but even _Merrick_ seemed to have shuddered at the idea of a Selection. Then again, Merrick had a hand over Ji-Yu that Roy could never have with his mother. They were married, which he guessed was the clincher. Maybe if he made Merrick see sense, Merrick could make Ji-Yu see sense, too.

"I hope they make it in time for tonight's Report!"

Roy's heart stopped beating for a second, and he spat out his cereal onto the table. Streams of milk and oats splattered the tablecloth.

The Report was _tonight_?!

Gail laughed, clapping her hands at such a miraculous display of professionalism.

Lanna shot up from her chair, seizing the folded swans and dabbing the mess down. "For the record, Princess Gail, royals are advised to keep the food _in_ their mouths at all times."

Roy didn't so much as care if he'd taken out someone with his spit. "The Report is _tonight_?!" he yelled.

Lanna shot him a resigned frown. "Yes. Queen Ji-Yu had it moved – about an hour ago, actually – so you can make your apology and announce your Selection post-haste."

Roy's lungs twisted inside of him. Of _course_ , Mother would have it moved. Less time for him to manipulate Merrick into changing her mind. Less time for anyone to have her change her mind. "Didn't you think to tell me this _before_ I sat down and ate breakfast?!"

Lanna cracked a smirk. "It's lunchtime."

Roy scooped the rest of the cereal into his mouth. No. He couldn't make a statement tonight! He had nothing prepared, nothing to say! He would stand on that stage and freeze, even with a teleprompter. That, in itself, would be a mistake. Roy did not make mistakes – at least, not ones he wasn't proud of.

He jammed toast down his throat. "I have to see Mother. Now."

The rest of the butlers and maids came to wipe the mess. Lanna pet Gail on the back.

"Another _for your record_ , Your Highness: royals don't _shovel_ their food." She paused. "Actually, just don't follow your brother's example. Ever."

Roy ignored her, downing the rest of the juice (and completely ignoring the 'hangover cocktail') and set back off into the hall. His stomach complained about his poorly chewed food, but he didn't have time. He had to stop this Report from happening.

He ascended three flights of stairs and plunged through four corridors, nearly bowling down three guards on patrol (or, more accurately: them bowling _him_ down) until Roy reached Ji-Yu's office.

Roy paused to glance out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. His mother had the best, most central overview of the garden in her office with a balcony. The fields of grass stretched far, wound in meanders between trimmed hedges and fancy topiaries. Sculpted fountains sprayed the clearest water in all of Illéa. The forest at the end of the gardens had been fenced off with golden gates.

Merrick's office was on the opposite side of the corridor, also with a balcony view – but his door was usually propped open. He wasn't inside, though. Roy could only guess they were both in Ji-Yu's office.

Soft voices lilted from the other side of Ji-Yu's office. He rapped on the door, and the voices faded.

"Who is it?" demanded Ji-Yu.

"Your favourite son," Roy replied.

Merrick opened the door. "I see you're up and about—"

"You moved the Report to tonight?!" Roy snapped, pushing past Merrick.

Ji-Yu's office was surrounded by old, mahogany bookcases. Not filled with books, however – with strategy papers, folders, and parchments from old times. The old grandfather clock by the doors to the balcony clucked with each stroke, making Roy more nervous – a constant reminder that time was moving.

Ji-Yu's office was the complete opposite to Merrick's, which was strung with colourful streamers and pictures that Gail had drawn (no matter how ugly they were), and where the bookshelves were filled with novels and collections of fairytales.

Ji Yu was perched on the edge of her leather chair, leaning over her mahogany desk. She'd changed out of the _hanbok_ to a simple dress suit and trousers, black and navy, and her hair was pinned into a ponytail. Several papers littered her desk, some with writing on. Red pen had circled several paragraphs, but Roy couldn't read what.

Roy's question hung in the air. Ji-Yu tensed. "Yes, I moved the Report to tonight. The sooner you make a public apology, the better."

Roy just laughed, but it wasn't friendly. "Well, thanks for the warning, _Omma_ ," he muttered. "Oh, and when were you going to tell me about my upcoming Selection? You know, the one I didn't know about?"

She knit her hands together on her desk, and tilted her head upwards. "I had planned _not_ to tell you, actually, and to have you read from a teleprompter blindly. But, your father thought it best to tell you beforehand. In hindsight, probably a better idea."

Roy shook his head madly. His hair fell loose from the ponytail and straggled his shoulders. "Er, how about just _not_ a good idea _at all_? I don't want a Selection!"

Ji-Yu narrowed her eyes. "Why not?" She produced a photograph from her desk drawer – one were his lips were plastered to some girl he didn't know the name of. "You seem to enjoy the company of women quite a lot. Why not just make it official and find a wife in one of them?"

Roy's lungs caught, and he wheezed out a breath. Great. Was she going to blackmail him with these stupid photos? If the apology was what she wanted, fine, he would deign himself to apologise. But he wouldn't so much as even think about having a Selection. He ground his teeth.

"I'll make an apology, _Omma_ ," Roy muttered, "but I'm not having a Selection."

Ji-Yu laughed. "It's too late. You are having one; it has been agreed with the province councils." She seized his gaze – unyielding and bold. "I'm fed up with you running about causing a scene. Perhaps when you have a significant other, you will think twice before making foolish decisions, as _clearly_ , a king and queen as parents and a princess sister is not enough motivation."

Roy felt his mouth dry of words, and his arms shake. All this because he went to a stupid _party_?

Merrick patted him on the back. Roy could feel him take some of his building anger with him.

"It's all right, son," said Merrick. "A Selection is a great opportunity to meet new people. And a future wife, of course. It's worked very well for your mother and me."

"Emphasis on _your mother and you_ , Dad! I'm not either of you!"

"Well," said Merrick, "you're technically _half_ of each of us—"

" _Not_ my point," Roy barked. "I'm not into the whole _settle young_ thing! I want to enjoy my life before I inherit the throne – I don't want to marry!"

"You won't be required to _marry_ , _Jun_ ," said Ji-Yu. "Only find a suitable wife to marry in future. And funnily enough, you can enjoy life _and_ be married."

"What, like you?" he snapped.

Instant regret darkened inside him, and his stomach clenched. Too far.

Ji-Yu's frowned engraved deep into her face like a river slicing through a valley.

" _I enjoy life just fine, thank you_ ," she said. It took moments to realise that she had spoken in Korean – sharp, and unyielding vowels and syllables melding into one another. There was control in her anger. " _I enjoy it twice as much with your father_."

Roy slanted his eyes over to Merrick. He smiled blankly, having zero idea what she was talking about. Roy sussed it caused Ji-Yu grief to dare talk about _romance_. As if she was so above that now.

"Just because you and Dad found happiness, doesn't mean I will. I want freedom," Roy retorted, making sure to enunciate every word in clear English.

Ji-Yu's frowned tightened on her taut face. "You will be king one day, _Jun_ ," she said. "You will never have freedom, and that is the truth."

The words struck strong. Roy felt a wave of sadness splash at the sides of his chest. She was right. Even his temporary respite at the parties he attended could only make him forget his royal duties for a few hours. Maybe a few more, depending on the length of his hangover.

He took a step back, refusing to reply, and bowing his head in shame.

Ji-Yu spoke again. "You will make a statement tonight apologising for your awful behaviour at this… this _social gathering_ , and all the previous ones that you have been lucky enough not to be photographed at." She paused. "After which, you _will_ announce your Selection to the people of Illéa."

"Honestly, Roy, it isn't that bad," chirruped Merrick. "You may enjoy it."

Roy glanced at Merrick, but didn't respond. He no longer had the heart to.

Ji-Yu waved him away. "Meanwhile, I have rebels to deal with. Please shut the door on the way out."

Roy didn't hesitate. He gently pulled the knob to shut the door behind him, listening to the _click_ as it shut, and he heard his parents' voices again, speaking of rebels and spies.

A sour anticipation clenched his airways. Tonight, he would have to make an apology for something he wasn't apologetic about. And tonight, he would announce his Selection.

After that, there was no going back.

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 **A/N** : It occurred to me the other day that I won't be able to post this chapter next week, as I will be travelling. So here it is early. Yay!

If you haven't already, or have, but would like to make changes to your submission, please send me your character's **Opinion of Gail**. ALSO, totally not on the form, but I thought it would be handy: if you could also add how your character's **Opinion of Roy** **would change after getting to know him** , it would be uber helpful. I have plenty of initial reactions to his 'party' behaviour (LOL, they're all making me laugh!), but opinions change after becoming more familiar with a person. Lots of characters literally loathe his wild side, but I hope they wouldn't loathe him through the whole competition, otherwise they wouldn't last very long! I hope you can gain a sense of his 'sober' side in this chapter.

As a friendly reminder, the details and rules for OC submission are in the first chapter, the form and free province list are in my profile, and whether I am accepting OCs is on my profile or in the summary. Please submit all OCs through PM.

Before I do hop off, I just wanted to say I'm so pleased with the submissions so far! I asked for diversity, and you guys delivered! I've had bisexual girls, black girls, Indian girls, Jewish girls, girls with gay parents, girls with no parents. It's going to be a lot harder to choose the spies and the winner! I _am_ again going to ask for more troublesome girls, though! Let's stir up some trouble! Otherwise I'm going to have to use one of my own characters, and that means less chance your character will advance further! (And trust me, exaggeration is key to entertaining writing!)

All favourites, reviews, and follows are appreciated! Hope you enjoyed!

~ GWA

PS: Please no spoilers for The Crown!


	3. Kindness, Kittens, and Kissing

Soon after leaving Queen Ji-Yu's office, wandering down the hallways aimlessly to forget about the Report tonight, Roy was swept up by Rudy. He had, apparently, been stalking the palace looking everywhere for Roy, trying to find him desperately so they could start working on his suit for tonight.

"I don't care, Rudy," Roy had said, unresisting to Rudy's hustle. "Put me in a donkey onesie. That's fun."

"Though a, ahem, 'donkey onesie' would certainly accentuate your long, horse-like face, Your Highness, the dress code is formal," Rudy had replied, without batting a single eyelid. "And I don't think the public will take you seriously if you covet the apology dressed as an arse."

Roy couldn't even conjure a clever comeback to Rudy's biting wit. He was _that_ unbothered.

By the time they'd measured him, sewed the materials, added the polish, removed the stray threads and made the suit into perfection, it was ten minutes before the Capital Report would air live to Illéa.

In the studio, armchairs and sofas were placed on tiers of seats. They rose four steps high, wide for space, and shaped like a half-moon. Tall, steel poles flushed the room in refreshing white light. A proscenium with two seats perched in front of the tiers. One for Romilda van der Voort, Illéa's Capital Report host, which was a cream chaise lounge, and her respective guest.

Roy glanced at the empty, red sofa. He'd never been more intimidated by a piece of furniture in his life.

"Face this way please, Your Highness," said the make-up artist – she gently guided Roy's straying gaze back to her, as she dusted him with concealer to hide red capillaries crackling over the surface of his face. The alcohol had completely passed through his system now, so his headache had passed and he felt nearly up to speed, but it had left him, finally, at the stage of _cringe at last night's photos_.

Rudy continued to remind him, in the driest voice possible, about some of the poses Roy had performed for the partygoers – including one, which had been snapped, where he held a dancing pole and shook his bottom to a beat.

"I believe it is called _twerking_ , Your Highness," Rudy said, as the make-up artist dabbed some fine oil onto Roy's neck. "Perhaps that in itself derives from the word, _working_. Unfortunately, I don't think this particular dance technique _worked_ for you."

The make-up artist tried not to laugh.

"Yes, _thank you_ , Rudy," Roy said, trying not to wince.

Rudy hid the rest of the photos in his coat pocket. "Something tells me you don't want me to describe the rest?"

"I remember everything just fine." _Lie_.

He didn't need to look at Rudy to know he was smirking. "Interesting how you can remember everything despite suffering from a human physiological condition called _passing out_."

Roy snorted in response. As much as the photos made him cringe, and the memories wince, he still didn't regret them. That was the biggest difference – the one thing that made him disdain the idea of apologising. He had nothing to regret, so why say he was sorry?

The double doors opened. Queen Ji-Yu stepped into the room. Roy didn't need to see that, either. Everyone had turned silent.

Instead of her voice, booming and loud, King Merrick spoke in a cheerful voice. "Good afternoon, everyone! Are we ready to make an exciting Report?"

About ten different people chorused strong _yeses_ in response; Roy spotted another load of people approach Merrick, armed with clipboards and manila folders.

The make-up girl stepped back, and bowed. "All finished, Your Highness."

"So quickly," Rudy said. "How ever do you manage to make him look _good_?"

Roy cracked a wry grin, and jabbed Rudy in the side. "Shut up. You know I can _fire_ you, right?"

Rudy's mouth split in another smirk. "Well, I'm the only loser who _wants_ this job, so good luck finding another butler."

The make-up girl made a soft laugh, before scampering off, no doubt to double-check Ji-Yu and Merrick. Rudy bowed, too, off to sort final preparations for Roy's lines.

Roy fiddled with his tie clip, suddenly aware that he was alone. Today, his suit was pinstripe, with a matching waistcoat and white shirt. The seamstresses had done a fine job, under such rushed conditions. Cameras attached to tracks swept by him, and people in caps and strange earpieces yelled instructions to the runners. The lords and ladies of the court had assembled themselves on the lower tiers of the tiers, fixing hair, dresses, suits, wrinkles. Roy couldn't help but think that Ji-Yu's messing with the Report's airdate had only thrown everyone in the palace into a frenzy.

Something tugged at his arm. Roy looked down. Princess Gail beamed a toothy smile at him, flattered in a mint-green tulle dress that caressed the floor.

" _Good luck, Jun_!" she piped, in her best Korean.

Roy pet her head. She wasn't even at the height of his waist. "Thanks, you rascal. Remember, though: Princesses don't pick their nose on air. Actually, no one picks their nose. Just don't do it."

Gail sniffled, as if thinking about it. "Lanna told me not to take your advice!" she said. "So I guess that means… I _must_ pick my nose!"

"No, _no_ , _bad_ idea—" but Gail had already sprung away, clambering up the tiers to the very top, and perching on Merrick's lap.

Roy grimaced. Hopefully Merrick would catch her fingers before they neared her nose.

A hand clasped Roy's shoulder, snapping him from his thoughts. Roy recognised Ji-Yu's grip before he'd even turned around. She had changed into another _hanbok_ , this time, a subdued pink hue. It matched Merrick, who had opted for a dark pink waistcoat to match his grey suit.

Roy could still taste the turmoil within him, and he resigned himself to look at her with some attempt at a blank stare.

Ji-Yu pursed her lips. "Good luck," she said.

She was wishing him _luck_ on something he didn't want to do? Roy nearly choked, and he felt his eye twitch.

" _It's not too late to cancel, Mother_ ," he said, in Korean. At least no one in the palace beyond himself, his mother, and his sister could understand it.

Ji-Yu stepped back. There was a hollowness to her eyes. " _It is. I would not cancel anyway, Jun. You must learn responsibility._ " She paused. " _The extreme is the only thing that seems to work on you_."

Roy opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. This case, he couldn't fight. Sneaking from the palace to black out at a random Angeles nightclub did not scream _responsible_ in the slightest. He fought down the urge to march out and lock himself in his room, and met her gaze, but said nothing.

Ji-Yu ripped away, striding with her head high to the top tiers to sit beside Merrick and Gail, who were clapping hands together. Roy bit down a rush of annoyance, trying to conjure his best face.

No matter what he had to say on the air, Roy had to remember. He never made mistakes.

"Okay, places everyone!"

"Your Highness, darling! Please, join me on the sofa!"

Romilda's distinctly husky voice called to him from the small stage. He turned, trying to pull on a happy memory to base a smile on. Puppies. Cake. Sleeping in. Katrina's shoes.

He caught his frown before it caught him. Oh, god, Katrina's _shoes_ —

Romilda patted the sofa. Her slim and bony figure had made her quite popular on _Illéa's Next Top Model_. Apparently, it translated into television hosting as well. Not that Roy could complain – she was charismatic. Her complexion and hair dark, she dazzled with bright eyeshadows and vibrant lipsticks. Even if she was more his mother's age than his own.

Roy hastily took a seat in the sofa. There was a whir of activity around him, but Romilda's smile captivated his attention.

"Darling, you look gorgeous!" she said, clapping her hands together. "I thought you looked rather amusing in the photos, too, but it appears no one agrees. Have a little fun when you're young. Are you ready?"

Roy leant back in the sofa. "I'm always ready, Rom."

Romilda laughed. "Of course you are, Your Highness."

The producer of the Capital Report waved his hands. "All right, are the lords and ladies of the court, and His and Her Royal Highnesses and Majesties ready?"

Roy gulped. He didn't nod. Still, he could feel Ji-Yu's eyes burn into the back of his head.

 _Roy never makes mistakes_.

"Then we are live, in three—!"

Two fingers. One finger.

The _On Air_ button flashed. The lights shone. The music played. The smiles brightened. Roy pulled up the edges of his mouth, and the camera panned to both him and Romilda _._

"Good evening, citizens of Illéa!" she chanted – in such effortless lilt it was hard not to listen. "And may I welcome you to a special edition of Capital Report. I am your host, Romilda van der Voort."

She gestured to Roy. He tried not to shuffle in his seat. A bead of sweat cried down his neck.

"Today, I am delighted to be joined by His Royal Highness, Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave of Illéa."

Polite claps. The teleprompter began to roll.

He swept into a smile. "Good evening, Illéa," he read. "As prince of our great nation, and heir to the throne, it may have come to your attention that in recent days, I have acted in an inappropriate manner—" he felt something stick in his throat, dry and threatening. But, he continued. "My actions were conducted solely of my own discretion, where I was well aware of the consequences it would bring to me, my family, and to you – the people. Therefore, I come here before you to offer humbly my sincerest of apologies."

The teleprompter told him to bow. He bowed, and rose again, to meet the eyes of millions watching.

He sucked in a stale breath. "It was never my intention to hurt or embarrass anyone. The only person I have shamed is myself, due to my irreverent—" the word rolled down. Ji-Yu had chosen _alcoholism_. _Alcoholism_! Roy was not alcoholic! He just liked the parties!

He quickly thought of something else. " _Imprudence_. Though I may never fully recover my reputation from these reckless events, I ask that you present me a chance to prove myself worthy of your rule."

His eyes passed over the next words. So, here it was. The announcement of his Selection.

He felt wooden and stiff in the chair, so much that the words failed to leave his mouth.

The teleprompter rolled. Roy felt his insides melt from embarrassment. _Recover_ , his mind barked. _Roy does not make mistakes_.

Romilda prompted him. "How do you intend to do so, Your Highness?"

Roy could feel the sour taste clipping his tongue, but he had no choice but to say it. To make it official.

"By holding my own Selection, Romilda."

The fakest gasps in the history of fake gasps lifted from the group behind him. Roy turned to Romilda, ignoring the teleprompter, and plastered a large smile on his face. "Yes. It is time for me to find a woman who would become my girlfriend and potential wife. I would like for her to equally embrace my extreme hilarity and wit—"

Romilda laughed. Roy continued.

"—but will also remind me of the duties I have to our great country. Our home."

Romilda clapped her hands together. "That is wonderful news, Your Highness. Congratulations on making such a hard decision. We are sure that your Selection will grace you with the presence of a wonderful, and suitable, wife."

Applause – polite applause, at that. No whooping or cheering. Roy dared to slant his eyes to the camera, and beam a smile. Hopefully, it didn't come across as too desperate, or remorseful.

Romilda shifted herself to face the camera again. "Well, there you have it Illéa. Our own Prince Roy will be holding a Selection. Tomorrow, ladies between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one will be sent application forms in the post, of which, you will have a month to complete. Best of luck to all who enter!"

She turned back to Roy. He felt a lump slide down his gullet. She wasn't finished?

"Before we go, I'd love to know: what do you search for in a potential wife?"

"Kissing skills," he blurted.

It was the first thing that popped into his head. Dread poured into him, and a monumental heat rose to his cheeks when he realised what he'd just uttered to the country. He'd just said _that_ aloud! Was he so superficial that his first thought about a potential wife was _kissing_?!

Unknown Club Girl captured his mind for seconds. Well, that photo seemed to agree.

Luckily, Romilda laughed, taking it in stride, and Roy decided to backpedal before Ji-Yu threw a fit on television.

"… which is the _last_ thing I think about! Of course!" He laughed.

Truth be told, he'd never even thought about it. The prospect of _girlfriend_ or _wife_ seemed so far away in his head. It sat at the back of his mind, there, but never conscious.

"Of course, Your Highness!" Romilda chuckled. "The _last_ thing you think about!"

"Yes, erm." Roy drove down a blush. "I _actually_ mean… a kind heart…?"

It was corny. It was cheesy. But it seemed to work. Romilda softened, as if he'd just offered the moon to his potential wife.

"How sweet! So you do have a soft side!"

Roy cracked a grin. "I watch kitten videos every day."

The crowd laughed – somewhere, he even heard Ji-Yu produce a soft giggle. At least that had worked.

Romilda shifted herself back to the camera. "There you have it Illéa! You heard it here first! Prince Roy searches for a girl with a kind heart… and that he watches kitten videos." She winked, which probably made someone watching melt. "That's all we have time for! Thank you for watching!"

Roy held his smile until the _On Air_ button flashed off. He'd never felt more relieved, yet more tense, in his entire life. The producers began to yell things, but Roy ignored them all.

Now it was official. The Selection of Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave. Once a free man, now tied down by thirty-five.

Romilda snapped him from his thoughts. "Good job, Your Highness. I think you handled that very well."

Ji-Yu must have descended the tiers at some point, because suddenly she was next to Roy. She wasn't furious, but her lips were pursed and her eyebrows dropped into her eyes.

" _Kissing skills_ , Jun?" she enunciated.

Roy stifled his annoyance and threw up a shrug. "Look, you gave me a load of official stuff to read on the teleprompter when the whole nation already knows I'm not really a serious person. It was my attempt at… humour."

Her arms crossed. "Why do I doubt that?"

Before Roy could feel inflamed, Romilda stood up, and graced a bow. "Your Majesty, I think His Highness recovered very well from his slip-up."

Ji-Yu levelled her glare on Roy. "Yes. You're lucky you did."

He could feel himself desperately wanting to sink into the ground. The silence deafened him. Saving him, Gail bounced out from nowhere and clutched Ji-Yu's legs.

" _Omma_ ," she said, "can I have a Selection?"

Romilda chuckled, and Roy felt his lungs expand. Thank heavens Gail was around to diffuse all the tension.

Ji-Yu softened, blessing them with a rare, genuine smile. "No, peanut. Wait until you're older, maybe."

She tugged on her leg. "When I'm ten?"

Ji-Yu's smile widened. "More like twenty."

Gail seemed to take this on, and pumped her fists. "I'm going to count the days! Day One! I am still single!"

She bounced off in usual Gail fashion, probably to battle someone else with questions. Roy met Ji-Yu's gaze, but it had frozen stiff, cold. After watching his sister, it was like suddenly staring into a dark abyss after years of sunlight.

"Don't ruin this for yourself, all right?" she said.

Roy heaved a sigh. "I'll try."

She gave him a firm nod. It was better than having her scold him in front of everyone else. She turned on her heel, and marched out of the room.

Roy could still see the afterimage of her _hanbok_ in his vision. He wondered how she would act when the Selected would arrive, given that she herself was once part of the Selection. Now she took her job as queen way, _way_ too seriously.

Romilda patted him softly on the back. "Don't you worry about her, darling. I'm sure she's nervous for you."

Roy scoffed. "Does a great job at hiding it, then."

"Yes. She's not one for emotion," Romilda said. "I remember watching your father's Selection, certain that this willowy girl name Beatrice Jacobs would win. Nope. His Majesty Merrick was head over heels for your mother all along. He hadn't even whittled his Elite down to seven when he chose her."

Roy shuddered, cringing. His parents didn't talk often about their Selection – but he counted his stars that they didn't. As if he wanted to know about them _romancing_ each other. Ugh.

"I'm going," he said vacantly. The remnants of his headache appeared to be returning, the teleprompter and pressure to _do well_ scattering the effects of the headaches pills. "Are we still having a Report on Friday?"

"Yes," replied Romilda. "I believe there are some issues to address with the nation."

Roy thought back to the conversation with his parents. The rebels. The spies. A shiver ran down his spine. He wondered whether the candidates from Honduragua and the rest of the south would be affected by the unrest. Maybe they were _part_ of it.

"All right, thank you, Rom," he said. Before waiting for a reply, he stepped down from the stage, brushed passed the rest of the staff, and breezed from the room. The suit around him felt too tight, his lungs constricted.

There was part of him that was actually looking forward to a Selection. It was, above everything, a chance to learn more about himself, and get to know people – _real_ , working people. Daughters of Illéa. Different cultures, different lifestyles. Something different from the drab of the palace he had grown up in his whole life.

And then there was the romance. Roy knew he was a sucker for romance, though he would never admit it – he realised, that probably came from Mother. If the girl of his dreams was amongst the thirty-five invited to the palace, then he would at the very least be grateful.

And at the very most… marry.

If he chose the right girl? Great! Parties all year round! Merriment! Dancing! _Fun_.

But if he chose the wrong girl… what would happen to all the fun things he wanted to do in life?

Roy shut his thoughts and made his way to his bedroom.

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 **A/N:** Poor Roy! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I have a few questions, actually, that I _again_ forgot to put on the form, lol. Feel free to stick these in the review, though! Are you okay with the following:

1\. Your character dying (e.g. through a rebel attack)?

2\. Your character falling for another person in the palace (e.g. a guard, a cook)?

3\. For the bisexual girls, your character falling for another Selected?

A simple yes/ no will suffice, unless you feel the need to elaborate! To a vast majority of the characters, none of this will happen. But, you know, the option is open if I ever want to travel down these roads! Specifically, characters dying. It's a lot more realistic that there are tragedies in a rebel-ridden world, especially with a dodgy spy about...

( **EDIT 14TH MAY 2016:** Guys, lol, many of you seem to be under the impression that I intend to massacre a whole bunch of the Selected. No! If I was going to kill a character it would a) be tasteful, and b) not be in vain (i.e., they wouldn't just get shot and die. It would mean something, or they would have sacrificed themself for a greater good). Having said that, I wouldn't want to kill off more than two characters, max. It would be like Celeste's death in The One, y'know? Relax. :P)

Thanks so much for your bursting enthusiasm! I'm so excited that you guys are excited; it makes me hyped to write, hahah. Chapter 4 within the next two weeks (announcement of the Selected! Namedrops and reactions ahoy!). My replies may be slow as I am travelling, but hopefully my posting schedule won't be disrupted. All reviews, favourites, and follows are, as always, appreciated.

~ GWA

PS I have finished The Crown, so if you want to chat about it with me, please do! But I'd ask that you refrain from posting spoilers in the reviews for those who haven't read it yet! Thank you!


	4. Announcements

The month that elapsed was a tense one for Roy. Knowing that in every province, every city, there was likely a girl between the age of sixteen and twenty-one clutching a filled application form and submitting it with hopeful eyes to the Selection committees. Knowing that, somewhere, at some point, his future girlfriend could be taking her picture right now.

Even though it was tense, it zipped by quickly, sharp and unyielding. After organising the table arrangements so early, the rest of the preparations had come into play. Extra seamstresses and maids hired. The choosing of colour swatches and pallets for bedding, wallpaper, or napkins. The mass ordering of fabric – tulle, silk, beads and thread – for the dresses to be tailored. Even the realigning of paintings in the palace hallways. Someone was _hired_ to adjust the portraits an inch or two to the left.

It left Roy in a whirlwind of activity, the centre of the storm. His only job was say some cutesy things during the Capital Report, resist cringing as Merrick described his own Selection, and wait.

Now, the waiting was over.

It seemed not yesterday he had been in the red sofa in the studio. Romilda van der Voort sat opposite in her chaise lounge, gleaming in a golden mermaid gown. Her hair had been permed especially for tonight.

The announcement of the Selected.

Thirty-five clear bowls had been filled with tiny, white envelopes, each with a name. Thirty-five stepladders had allowed the person picking the envelopes from the bowls, Gail, to reach inside. When the envelope would pass to Romilda, she would read them out. They would become the Selected, and fly over to his home over the week.

Nausea pushed and pulled within Roy like evening tide. It was hard not to be nervous, given how life-changing the results would be. Maybe they would all suck? Maybe they would all be goddesses? He had no clue. He had no way of knowing whether the pool of candidates would be suitable for him or not. And whether they were or not was irrelevant, anyway – the moment Romilda read their name, they'd enter the Selection.

Gail fidgeted next to Romilda on the chaise lounge. She, at least, seemed way more excited about this than him. She swung her legs, swathed in lacy white tights, and patted the lap on her white dress with impatience.

"Now?" she said.

Romilda pet her on the head. "Not yet, Your Highness. After your father has made some announcements, then you can."

"Ooooh," Gail squealed, jittery with excitement. She had enough for herself and Roy combined.

Roy turned around. Nearly everyone was seated. Ji-Yu sat alone at the top of the tiers, whereas Merrick was off-stage, being dusted for final preparations for his announcements.

He caught Merrick's eyes, and Merrick gave him a bright smile and a thumbs-up. He'd repeatedly told Roy that the nerves were pointless, and that he would eventually enjoy himself. The company was more fun than anything.

Roy had believed him, mostly. Now that it was about to happen, the nerves attacked with full fury.

He turned back around to glance at Ji-Yu, who, thankfully, wasn't looking up – instead patting down her green dress. She had told him something he thought she'd never utter. _Be yourself_.

That was probably from the point of view of a Selected though, not a _Selectee_.

When everything was prepared, and the court was ready, Merrick took stage on the podium. The cameras began to roll.

"Good evening, Illéa," he began, with a chipper smile. "This is King Merrick, live from the palace. Before we start with the, ahem, exciting portion of tonight's Report, I would quickly like to address some updates as to the rebel activity in Honduragua."

Roy could see his smile droop on the screen. This was serious.

"We have heard reports that there have been sporadic and vicious attacks against our province council members in Tegucigalpa city, Honduragua, and we are doing everything we can to combat them. They will not be tolerated, nor glossed over, and we take this issue very seriously – as if an attack on our own soil."

Roy gulped. If he'd have not been born royal, and had lived in Honduragua, would he have seen the riots happening in the south? The poor council members… what had they done to deserve it? Served his family? It made him feel ill that people were doing this to spite him. The only fault he could put to himself was drinking too much gin.

He zoned out for the rest of the report; Merrick rattled on about finances, peaceful protests, and an election for a council spot in Zuni. It only made Roy feel more nervous about his Selection. What if the girls invited to the palace had experienced the dissonance first-hand?

Merrick beamed in the screen, and Roy snapped back to attention.

"And, now, I'm sure you're all impatient for the exciting part. It is my honour to pass on the role of host to Romilda van der Voort."

He stepped back, revealing Roy, Gail and Romilda to the camera, and ambled up the tiers to join Ji-Yu. Gail grinned – brandishing her baby teeth.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" said Romilda, and her grace of performance lifted the mood. "Good evening, citizens of Illéa! I am very excited to be joined by His Royal Highness, Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Gail Su-Jin Schreave" – she gestured to Roy and Gail – "for what I think the nation has been waiting for, after many weeks of anticipation." She paused. "That's right! The Selection of Prince Roy!"

Clapping. Roy snatched a smile, and Romilda turned to him.

"How are you feeling today, Your Highness?"

Nauseous, but given his recent indiscretions, he didn't think it was appropriate to say. "Nervous? Excited?" Roy said. "A mixture… Nervoucited?"

Gail giggled, and Romilda laughed, too. He didn't even try on that one.

"Of course! I imagine there isn't a person in this room more _nervoucited_ than you!"

He could have argued Ji-Yu. Less excited, more nervous.

Romilda seemed to channel his thoughts. She managed to turn her body so she still faced the camera, but could easily regard the tiers.

"Your Majesty, King Merrick," said Romilda. "Do you have any last advice for the Selected?"

Merrick smiled, as if he'd been preparing for this question. "Please enjoy yourselves! Don't be nervous! We don't bite!"

Laughter. It was such a typical thing for Roy's father to say.

"And Your Majesty, Queen Ji-Yu?" Romilda prompted. "What advice can you give to the Selected, given your previous experience as one, and as the winner?"

The words seemed to pass by Ji-Yu's steeled face for a moment. Her hands had clasped together. Roy watched, the wrinkles on her face itching. Then, she managed a very quaint, demure smile.

"If you are bold, be bold. If you are shy, be shy. If you are loud, if you are quiet, if you are funny or serious, be that. Never try to change yourself, and be someone other than you. Be proud. If you cannot convince yourself, you will never convince anyone else."

She paused, and – to Roy's surprise – cracked a wry smile.

"And good luck. I hope my son does not drive you mad as he does me."

Real laughter burst from the court. Roy had to stifle his. She'd said it so well, so genuinely and with jest. He actually felt a trickle of comfort at the words. They may have been meant for the Selected, but he feel he could relate to them himself, too.

He resolved to keep the words in mind. He could only be improved, never changed.

Romilda shifted herself to face the camera. "Then I believe we shouldn't stall any further! Without further ado, may I be the first to announce our new Selected!" She leant over to Gail, and whispered, "You may go now, Your Highness."

Gail squealed – perhaps the most fun she'd had in weeks – and barrelled off towards a random bowl, climbing the steps as if they were Mount Everest. The screen behind the cameras split into two – one side focusing on Gail, rummaging through the bowl, and another on Roy's own face: vacant, blank, and removed of expression.

Roy swallowed. He could feel the burn of the peoples' eyes, eating up his reaction. When a Selected was chosen, he knew their photograph would pop up on screen behind the camera for him to see. The photo would show on the television screen, too, so the rest of Illéa could make their own judgements. He tried not to wring his hands together.

Gail had stopped at the bowl tagged _Lakedon_. She seized a handful of envelopes and brought them out, spilling onto the floor. From the handful, she picked one, shook it, and piped, "I like this one!"

Romilda ushered Gail forwards. Gail skipped, handing the envelope to her, before pushing off towards the bowl marked _Carolina_.

Roy bit his tongue. The first Selected.

Romilda cleared her throat. "Miss Ferelith Riverly of Lakedon, a Four."

Ferelith's picture flashed onto the screen. A willowy girl with sunlit hair, smiling demurely into the camera.

She was pretty, Roy thought, trying to cobble an image in his mind of him and Ferelith, standing next to each other. But it didn't appear.

Gail brought forth another envelope for Romilda to read, and before Roy knew, his thoughts of Ferelith were dashed for the next Selected.

"Miss Sherlock Graves of Carolina, a Four."

The picture swept away, replaced with a tanned girl, with thick, chocolatey ringlets. There was a dash of something amusing in her eyes. Entirely different from Miss Ferelith.

Roy could feel his cheeks flush – his mind was empty. He had no idea what to think for all these women, and the idea that he was meeting them all within the week made his heart clamber for a break.

The list continued. Gail soon outpaced Romilda's ability to read the names of the Selected. There was a Vanessa. An Alisa. A Cassia, a Chiara, and a Camilla. The names jumbled in Roy's head that he had already forgotten most of them the moment their pictures disappeared.

"Miss Persephone Cahill of Angeles, a Two."

Roy didn't even have time to process the girl's redheaded bust, before he heard a slight gasp from Ji-Yu. He was tempted to turn, but he didn't think it was appropriate to gloss over the girl on screen. Clearly, Mother knew something.

The rest of the names continued to list. Romilda sucked in several more breaths of air.

When she came to Atlin, she announced, "Lady Riley Aldaine of Atlin, a Three."

His heart skipped a beat. _Riley_? He couldn't stop his mouth from drooping when Riley popped onto the screen: her dyed-blonde hair, her warm brown eyes. They looked the same as he remembered, and soon he would see them again.

He was certain things had ended with her. Now this would reopen old wounds.

His thoughts replaced for first impressions of the next Selected.

"Lady Levinia Lefray of Labrador, a Two."

Roy couldn't pretend to hide his surprise. Levinia. From _Livin' it with the Lefrays_. One out of five quintuplets – and that wasn't even the rest of their family. He had seen a few episodes of their reality television show, but it reminded him too much of the prying in his own home that he stopped watching. He was also bitter about Levinia having more Chirper followers, but wouldn't ever admit to it.

He tried to surf through his mind. Which girl was Levinia? Her face appeared on the screen: lethally beautiful, and shining with confidence. She would be thrust into one life of the cameras to another. He had to wonder what that would be like.

A few more girls were called, until another familiar name.

"Lady Luna Bellini-Torres of Calgary, a Two."

A girl of darkish skin tone – perhaps a mixture of two races – appeared on screen. Luna was someone he'd seen at some of his parties, just a dash of her in the distance. They'd never interacted. Funny, how now they'd have to.

Eventually, Gail stopped, glancing at each bowl, trying to find one she hadn't already chosen an envelope from. Luckily for Roy, there weren't any more. He allowed himself a slight sigh of relief as the camera quickly panned to Romilda.

"That is our pool of Selected! Congratulations to all!" She laughed – throaty and strong. "Princess Gail, you've done a wonderful job!"

She frowned at Romilda. "Aw. They're all picked?"

"Unfortunately, yes! Can you imagine more than thirty-five girls?"

Gail looked like she wanted to pull out another hundred for the Selection, but stifled the need and sat back next to Romilda, instead. "That was fun!"

Romilda laughed again. "It was! But perhaps His Highness has a different reaction?"

Roy could feel the imaginary pole in his back straighten. He managed a cool smile, despite the fear lavish inside him, and tried to think of neutral answer that could be applied to all of them.

"We have a diverse pool of Selected. It'll be interesting to meet them all in person."

Romilda clapped – Gail clapped too, in response.

"Quite!" chorused Romilda. "I think we're all a little excited to meet them all! Ladies, if you have been Selected, our organisers will be in contact with you over the next few hours, to sort final arrangements before your arrival here within the week. We look forward to welcoming you to the palace, and may the best girl win!"

The cameras died soon after that, and the Capital Report was over. Gail continued to brim with delight even after Romilda upped and left for a refreshment.

"What do you think?" Roy asked.

Gail buzzed. "Oh! They're so pretty! Do you think they like hockey?"

"I'm sure one of them will like hockey," he replied.

"Roooooy," Gail spoke. "Will you fall in love with one of them?"

Roy felt himself blush – which was totally stupid, he knew, given that it was an innocent question Gail had posed. She grinned at his reaction, and began to giggle.

"Roy will fall in love!" she chanted. "Roy will fall in love!"

Ji-Yu and Merrick descended the tiers onto the proscenium. "Someone has to fall in love with _him_ , first, peanut," Ji-Yu said, with a teasing smile. Merrick chuckled, too, and Roy rolled his eyes – the blush had fizzled into nothing.

The producer of the show hustled in. His cap hardly covered an inch of his bold head. He handed Roy thirty-five sheets of paper, each with a face clipped on.

"The application forms of the Selected, Your Highness," he said, "so that you can learn their names before they arrive."

Roy winced. There were so many girls. So many names.

"Erm, I'll try."

"No, you'll succeed," said Ji-Yu pointedly.

"Oh, do let me see," Merrick knelt beside him to peer at the forms. Roy flicked through. "They all look like appealing young ladies."

"Hmm," Ji-Yu said. "We'll see." She jerked her head towards the forms. "And I see Persephone Cahill is amongst them, as well."

Roy wracked his brain. The girl from Angeles – the one Ji-Yu had gasped at.

"Who is she?"

Ji-Yu drew in a curt breath. "Eleanor Cahill's daughter. Eleanor is one of my advisors, and she has Persephone shadow our meetings occasionally." She narrowed her eyes. "She doesn't look familiar?"

As if Roy had paid extremely hard attention to the advisors or their meetings. He scrunched his face up.

If Ji-Yu wasn't impressed, she didn't voice it. She looked at Gail, and softened. "Come on, peanut. I think it's your bed time."

"I wanna' look!"

"Tomorrow, okay?" said Ji-Yu.

Gail's cheeks puffed, and she looked like she wanted to protest, but didn't say anything more than "Aw." Ji-Yu scooped her up in her arms and carried her away, and Gail instead flashed Roy a thumbs-up from over Ji-Yu's back.

Roy cracked a smile. Even if the Selected sucked, he'd still have Gail. Gail would always be his girl. He focused on the forms again, as the production crew began to clear the equipment away. Merrick hovered over his shoulders.

"Would you like some advice?"

Roy's shoulders dropped. "I said I would _try_ to resist making fart jokes."

Merrick chuckled. "No, not that – though definitely advised." He poked the forms. "Your first instinct may be wrong. You can look at someone, think 'Oh, isn't she lovely?' but then get to know them, but they be completely different to what you expect. Look, here," – he paused over the form of Maeve Reynolds, a dark girl with crazy, curly hair, and three slashes down her right eye – "you see a rather big girl with a scar. Perhaps your first instinct to you is that she has a lot of history."

"Or that she's badass," said Roy, focusing on the scar on her eye. Dang, it was a big scar.

Merrick chuckled again. "Or that she's, ahem, _badass_ , yes. But when you first meet her, your impression may be completely dashed. Perhaps she is quiet. Perhaps she is loud and brash. Perhaps you were right – that she has a heavy burden, or is very cool. It extends beyond that, too, of course. You meet so many people, but you never _really_ meet them until you get to know them."

Roy kept looking at the face of Maeve Reynolds, who grinned into the camera.

"You know that only makes things harder, right?"

Merrick smiled. It was warm, as fluffy as roasted marshmallows. "I know, but you should learn that anyway. My first impression of your mother, for example, was that she was a scary woman. Terrifying." Merrick paused, placing a finger on his chin. " _Haunting_ , actually. Like a ghost, or a poltergeist. The look in her eyes could turn you to stone with fear – my goodness, I remember the petrifying shiver running down my spine the first time we met—"

"Point made. She's scary," Roy cut across, frowning. "Where is this going?"

Merrick blinked a few times, removing the gloss from his eyes. "That was my first instinct of her. But once we started to become friends, I discovered that she was passionate and determined underneath all that… _scare_. Most people aren't always what they seem, and your mother was the epitome of hiding a softness inside. That's why I fell in love—"

Roy couldn't help but shudder. "Okay, stop there. I can guess the rest. Gross."

"How do you think we feel knowing that there will be thirty-five girls around to woo you?" Merrick laughed. "But you see my point, right?"

Roy conceded, leaning back in the sofa. "Yeah, I see."

Merrick beamed. "Good, good." He patted Roy on the back, and stood back up. "Then I suppose that's all the advice you need. Oh, and be yourself, of course. Then again," he paused – something mischievous slipped into his eyes, "nobody would really want _you_ , so you'd better be on your best behaviour."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," Roy said – but he grinned too.

"You don't get all that sass from your mother, you know!" Merrick chuckled, before heading out of the studio.

The production team were nearly finished with clear up, leaving Roy in near silence to flick through the forms. So many more names flashed up at him that he couldn't even begin to remember half of them, when all of them would be arriving at his home within the week.

He kept reading – trying at least to commit faces to memory. Soon he came to the dark realisation that one of these faces would be the face he would wake up to in the morning, or the face that would share the features of his future children. The thought stabbed at his lungs, making the air escape.

One of these women would likely become _queen_. If he chose wrong, could not only his heart, but the _country_ suffer?

"Don't make a mistake, Roy," he said to no one in particular. He was certain one of the runners gave him a strange stare, but they said nothing.

Once Roy had rifled through all the files, his brain began to hurt, like he'd been thinking too hard. Too many names for someone who didn't care enough, who thought it was too early to have a Selection. Maybe he was taking this too seriously? It wasn't like he wanted to find a girlfriend and wife so soon in the first place.

Maybe he should just… wing it?

It went against every possible thing learning to become king had taught him. Preparation and looking towards the future were key. But this concerned his personal life, and for the majority of his personal affairs, he tended to just _wing it_. Ji-Yu couldn't complain if he said he'd try, but his attempts to try were haphazard.

If he just pretended to care for a few months, then sent them all home in increments… _no one_ could complain.

Rudy appeared with a sweeping bow in Roy's peripheral vision. Roy flinched, and looked up. Most of the production crew had left. It was just the two of them, alone.

"Oh, hi," Roy greeted limply.

"Tea has been served in the Chateau Drawing Room," Rudy said.

"Oh," Roy said. He organised the application forms and handed them to Rudy. "Can you put these on my desk?"

"Is the sky blue?"

"Only when it's not raining."

Rudy scrunched his face. "It's still blue above the clouds, you know."

Roy waved him off. "Semantics." He hopped off the sofa for dinner.

"So, what do you think?" Rudy asked, halting Roy midway to the door. "About the Selected?"

It was the first time anyone had actually _asked_ him that question. He recalled as many of their faces as he could, as many of their names that stuck, and scrunched his face.

If anyone would understand, it was Rudy.

Roy turned to face him. "I have made the decision to not take any of this seriously. I'm just going to breeze through this competition unattached, and send them all home in a slow elimination that doesn't raise suspicion with Mother. And when I actually _want_ to have a Selection, I'll start another one," he said. "Do you think that is a good idea, or a _really_ good idea?"

"I have no option to say a _bad_ idea?"

This didn't bode well. Roy twisted his lips. "Well, yes, but I hoped you'd be fine with either _good_ or _really good_ anyway."

The question seemed to leave Rudy despondent. "Roy, I think it's pertinent that you at least try to make an effort with these girls." He waved the forms. "This is your _future_ you're carving."

"A future that I didn't want so soon," Roy pointed out.

"Irrelevant, as it _is_ happening soon," Rudy countered. "You may find the girl of your dreams."

"I may also find that Mother will let me go to _the Salt and Stars_ nightclub and buy me three shots of Jaeger," Roy snorted.

Rudy rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. It's not my place, after all," he said. "But I will tell you that you have a great opportunity in front of you to find a potential wife. You should use it."

Roy suddenly found himself craving the three shots of Jaeger at _the Salt and Stars_ nightclub. "So that I can be married within the month, then ascend the throne? Er, no thanks."

"Oh, come on, Roy. Her Majesty has told you that you are not required to marry immediately after the end of your Selection." He gave a weak smile. "Just try? You may find that these girls are wonderful."

How could he even try, when he didn't want this to happen at all? Becoming attached to these girls meant that he would have to sacrifice his freedom. Roy didn't want to tie himself down when he had so much life ahead of him.

Alas, Rudy had proved his persuasion skills. Maybe he should at least talk to some of them. Maybe they would like parties as much as he did, or would want to leave. Thinking back to Riley, he knew at least one of them did.

Roy tensed his shoulders. "I'll meet them first. Then… we'll see."

Rudy smiled. "Good."

Roy didn't respond. He spun on his heel, and made for the drawing room.

 **=#=#=#=#=#=#=**

 **A/N:** A rather contained chapter, but some mentions of the Selected to give you a taste! Hope you enjoyed it!

Last chance for submissions, lurkers! If you've reserved a province or haven't finished the form, please do! I will no longer accept OCs who have some personal connection to Roy (like Riley, Persephone and Luna), or are famous in some way (like Levinia), as they would've been harked on in this chapter. Other OCs will be accepted until spots run out!

All reviews, favourites and follows greatly appreciated!

~ GWA


	5. A Spy Takes Root

Roy woke up a few days later with a nervousness brewing in his stomach.

He knew. The Selected. They were here.

All of them had arrived in staggered packets yesterday, shown to their rooms and allowed to explore their wings of the palace, and the Women's Room. No doubt, some had become friends, tried each other's make-up, sized up their competition, gossiped about Roy. God, the gossip. What would they be saying now, waiting in anticipation for him to appear?

He blew out a frustrated sigh, sorting through the application piles at his desk in his bedroom. Rudy hovered behind, waiting for a morsel of a command. It was nearly the afternoon, but his brain couldn't absorb any of their faces. There were thirty-five of them. _Thirty-five_. He could barely remember the names of his cousins, let alone anyone else. This _trying_ thing was harder than he thought.

He plucked one randomly from the pile – who happened to be Yuriko Sato – and shot to stand (which was hard, given how stiff his suit choice was today) and faced Rudy. Rudy cocked a single ginger eyebrow on his forehead.

"This girl. Yuriko," Roy said, thrusting the application form into Rudy's face. "What do you think?"

Flashes of alarm passed Rudy's face. "What do _I_ think?"

Roy nodded. "I mean, I don't have the slightest clue. Tell me what _you_ think of her."

Rudy seemed to study the small photo clipped on the right-hand corner. "She seems… very appropriate."

Roy's shoulders fell. _Appropriate_ was a strange word choice. But, then again, he himself could never have gleaned _appropriate_ just by looking at the girl's face. It was probably better to be deemed _appropriate_ than not. He slapped the application down and chose another – this time, it was a Delia Colestrist.

"How about her?" Roy said.

"Very appropriate, Your Highness."

Roy dropped his arm. "Are you going to say that for every girl?"

"I… can't say I can make a judgement on their appearance."

"Oh, come on. I'm trying. _You_ have to try, too," Roy pleaded. Rudy conceded a sigh that must have meant he would, and Roy turned, swapped for another application, and showed him.

"Okay, how about Skylar Davenport?"

Rudy leant forwards and squinted. For moments, there was silence, until he muttered, "She has a very nice… nose."

"Ugh, bro, come _on_! You can't give me _any_ hints?"

"Firstly," Rudy began, "this is _your_ Selection. You're meant to form your own, unaltered opinion on their appearance. And secondly," he cleared his throat, "It doesn't matter which girl you show me. I will find none of them attractive."

Roy paused, soaking this in. Wait a minute, was he implying…?

"Wait, are you gay?"

Rudy rolled his eyes, but his voice was not unkind. "Congratulations. You have won the _Most Observant_ award for the year. Would you prefer a trophy, or a medal?"

Roy replaced Skylar's application onto the pile, and leant back. How had he known Rudy for seven years and _not_ known that he was gay? _How_?

"I had no idea."

"Evidently," said Rudy.

Roy smacked up a wry smile. "Well, I mean, I know I'm attractive. Everyone just wants to be around me."

Rudy let out a laugh – it was so loud, it probably breached the doors.

"Yes, you were very attractive in those photos, too. I especially liked the one where you were pouring a pitcher of vodka over yourself whilst simultaneously wagging your bottom over a barstool. Naked."

Roy felt his smile drop. "… Touché." Suddenly, he lit. "Sooooo, anyone you have your eye on? I happen to be an excellent matchmaker, too. Some of the guards come close to my potent levels of attractiveness."

Any smugness disappeared, and Rudy pressed his lips together for a second, strode to Roy's desk, and jabbed the application forms. "The _Selected_ , Your Highness. Focus."

He'd have to ask another time. Roy glanced at the applications. Names and castes popped out at him, but he had no idea which to regard first. Even shadowing his parents' advisory board meetings were much easier to swallow than this.

He sat back down and spread the applications thinner, so he could see every face and every name attached. He should try to remember their names first, right? And the names associated with what they looked like. At least, that was a start. He'd have to meet them all later and probably forget, anyway.

He slipped the application for Sherlock Graves into his hands – the girl with chocolate ringlets, dark skin, and the amused glint in her eye.

"Sherlock's a really odd name, isn't it," Roy said suddenly.

Rudy was behind him in seconds, towering over his shoulders. "As in Sherlock Holmes? Quite the classic. A detective novel." Rudy gestured to another application. "And this girl. She has the name Ambrosia. That was the food of the gods. Means immortality."

Roy glanced at her face. It was pretty – but delicate, as if she would break if she hugged her. And she was whiter than snow, almost appearing to be ill.

"She doesn't look immortal—"

A hasty knock sliced Roy's thoughts. Rudy immediately strode to open the door, and a maid bustled inside. Sweat careened down her cheeks, and her curtsy was rushed.

"Your Highness, Her Majesty requests your presence immediately. It is urgent."

Roy pushed his chair back, nearly knocking Rudy over with his haste. "What's the matter?"

The maid shook her head. "She will not say. Please, we do not wish to keep her waiting."

The thoughts cascading through Roy's mind refused to bless him with anything but the worst possible scenario, and he felt his heart rumbling within him. What was urgent? Was she taken ill? Was it to do with the rebels? Had they infiltrated? Were Gail and Merrick okay? He shot a worried side-glance at Rudy, who passed one back with equal worry, and the pair swept from the room. Several maids and butlers in the corridors attempted to grab Roy's attention with small details, such as the starter for tonight's menu, but Roy had to brush them all off.

He tumbled into Ji-Yu's office with shaking hands. She wasn't in her seat, but pacing between the bookshelves and the shut balcony doors. Her dress was wavy and subdued in colour, a pale grey, almost as if she'd chosen it to match the mood. The curtains were drawn, and the hanging light provided a harsh glow to the room. A paper was clutched in her hand, creasing with the intensity of her grip.

On the opposite side of Ji-Yu's office was Gemima Chi, one of Ji-Yu's advisors. Her suit was crisp and sharp. Gemima's composure was much more in line with what Roy had expected from his mother. This meant something _bad_.

"What's wrong?!" he yelped.

Ji-Yu cut her pacing short. "You're finally here. Good. Rudy, wait outside," she instructed. "Roy, shut the door."

Rudy bowed graciously and stepped outside the office. Roy shut the door, and read Ji-Yu's face. There was always a constant worry line creasing her features, but this had leaked into her eyes – there was something scared tugging at her pupils, raising the hairs on her skin.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he whispered, glancing to Gemima.

Ji-Yu cast a gaze at the balcony first, then at the office door. "Have you met with the Selected, yet?"

Roy shook his head, wary. "No. I was about to go meet them after I had succeeded learning their faces."

Ji-Yu crumpled suddenly, and she blew out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I wanted to tell you before you met them—" Then, her face fell. "Oh, Roy. I'm so…" she paused, "I'm so sorry."

Roy bit back his surprise. What could she have possibly have done to appear this apologetic?

"For what, Mother?"

She shook her head. "The Selection was a bad idea. With the rebels about, trying to overthrow us, it was a poor decision on my behalf. I shouldn't—"

"It's a bit late for this," Roy said. "Is this all you called me here for? Was this your emergency?"

He wondered that if he let her continue, she would have called the whole debacle off. That would have solved all of his problems.

But it appeared it wasn't the only thing he had been called for. "No," said Ji-Yu. She gulped, and it sounded as if the weight of the world had slid down her gullet. "Our sources from the south have determined that… that one of the Selected is a spy. For the rebels."

Roy felt his throat hollow, and his mouth parch of words. The slithering claws of dread wriggled up his weakening spine, threatening to bowl him back into the bookcase behind him. The world began to tip out of balance, like the oceans could pour into the atmosphere, and the trees could uproot and float away.

One of the Selected was a _spy_.

He couldn't conjure the right words – not even a breath seemed to make this less surreal. He shook his head, staring at the patterns on the carpet.

"No. You're joking, right?" he whispered. "It's not funny."

Ji-Yu slapped the piece of paper onto her desk. There was red pen scratched all over it. "Do I ever _joke_ , Jun?!" she snapped. " _Do I_?"

The sharpness of Ji-Yu's reaction forced Roy to look at her. No. Her face had hardened, plated with steel. Her eyes had a newborn flush of fire within them – anger, and fury. He had been on the receiving end of that fury many times before, and he knew, instantly, that this was nothing to laugh about.

"N-No," he managed.

Ji-Yu ripped her gaze away, tapping her hands on the table. "The background screening didn't sweep them well enough. Sources indicate that they managed to enter their little stooges into the Selection, and that one of them was chosen. And we don't have a clue who it is."

Roy couldn't comprehend the words. One of the girls in the Women's Room right now was a spy for the rebels. A _spy_. Here to report back to their superiors, to spill the secrets of the crown or the patrol schedules of the guards. To usurp his family from the throne. Illness coiled around his heart, and he felt momentarily dizzy – that he might just puke all over Ji-Yu's shoes to match Katrina's, too.

"But… but how?" he sputtered. "There were hundreds of applicants! Gail picked them from the bowls on live television!"

"Yes," Gemima finally input her say. "But I believe they were in all of the province pools. It just so happens that _one_ was picked. Luckily, no more, or we would have had more trouble on our hands. They must have managed to rig the background screening during the application process somehow."

"But… but…" he faltered, before regaining nerve. There only seemed to be one way forwards. It was sickening how much hope thrummed through him. "Then we have to cancel the Selection, right?"

Ji-Yu cupped a hand on her cheek. "No. That sends an obvious sign that we _know_ about the spy. Then the rebels know we have an advantage." She shook her head, before gazing straight into Roy's eyes. "No, Jun. I must ask you to do something you will not like."

Roy swallowed the saliva collecting in his mouth. He had a feeling he knew.

"You want me to continue the Selection. And you want me to find out who the spy is."

Her gaze softened. "It will not be an easy task, but Lady Chi and I see no other option. If there were another way… I would prefer it to risking your life. You're the only one who will really get to know any of these girls. If you can root out the spy before they reach the Elite stages, or – heaven forbid, the top five – then you will be able to eliminate them without so much suspicion. And then, we can _deal_ with them properly."

A sick tide washed through him. This task he had been given. The Selection itself was hell on earth to him, a tether of his freedom. But a spy? This was a spear in his side, ready and waiting to stab.

He tried to think logically. Of the thirty-five, he just had to remove one girl, right? He was more likely to eliminate them in a provisional, mass elimination right at the beginning of the competition than any other point. He just had to trust his judgement, worm out the suspicious girls, and then he would be free to continue his Selection as normal.

But what if, against all the odds, the spy made it to his Elite, or further? What if he fell in _love_ with the spy?

"Mother," he said, "Hypothetically, if I did actually want a wife from this competition… what if… what if the spy becomes the one? What then?"

Ji-Yu's shoulders fell, as if she'd been fearing that question too.

"Then I'm afraid I must break your heart, son," she whispered.

The words shook him. His heart would be shattered, wrecked, and might never truly recover, but it was for the better – to love someone who only wanted to use him was one of the worst punishments life could throw. He knew no relationship was worth putting a risk to his country. Even if he fell hard for the spy, they were only here to manipulate him.

And even if he didn't fall for the spy, if he fell for someone else, and the spy became his friend, they would always be prowling. Waiting. Watching.

He nodded, swallowing the fear that the evil spy could be lurking the corridors right now and poisoning the others with her radical thoughts.

"I'll… I'll do it," he said, deflated. "I'll do it for you, and Illéa."

Ji-Yu strode to Roy, and embraced him with a rare hug. He found himself melting into his mother's arms – her scent of light, jasmine perfume soothing and comforting, and the softness of her hair tickling his neck. Memories of his younger days flooded back into his mind, when her hugs weren't such a scarcity as they were now.

"I'm sorry," she murmured into his ear.

He decided to try to make the tension light again, to show Ji-Yu that he wasn't afraid. "It's okay," Roy said. "Besides, all the girls will probably go running when they meet me, anyway."

Ji-Yu managed a chuckle, and broke off from him. She swept at his suit, and clutched his shoulders.

"Thank you," she said. A smile lit her face. "For each moment you make me ashamed, there are always a thousand moments where you make me proud, too."

Swells of pride filled Roy. He was glad to make the right choice, for a change. He stared at his mother for a moment before a thought careened into his head.

Did Merrick know?

Roy frowned. "You've told Dad, right?"

It was Ji-Yu's turn to frown, and she took a sombre step back. "No. I feel as if he would… well, he'd go mad."

Roy's mouth dropped open. He could picture it, too; Merrick tearing his hair out with paranoia and worry, but it didn't mean they should keep it from him.

"But, Mother, you can't just _not_ tell Dad. He's the king!"

"And he is also my husband. The Selection was my idea. I will bear the burden of hunting down the spy, with you. Trust me, if he knew, he wouldn't be able to sleep at night."

"I don't think I will, either."

Ji-Yu shook her head. "Where he is kind, he is also neurotic. He would order everyone in the palace away. That would ruin our advantageous position. We have this opportunity, and we must utilise it." She paused. "I know I will probably regret the decision, but I can't bear for him to worry. We will just have to eliminate the problem before he even finds out there was one."

There was definitely something wrong with this. Merrick would have to know eventually, right?

"He's also awful at keeping secrets," Ji-Yu continued, with a sheepish smile. "At least, he would certainly begin to act suspicious if he were to meet the Selected knowing one of them was a spy. And we can't have that, either."

Roy couldn't see anyway to counter. Ji-Yu was right.

"Okay," Roy conceded. "And I suppose no one else must know, either?"

Ji-Yu's gaze swept to the door. "I may permit Rudy to know as long as he swears allegiance to the crown right here, right in front of me."

Roy's muscles tightened. "Mother! He's been my butler for seven years!"

Ji-Yu pulled her lips taut. "We shall see."

Gemima made herself useful and ushered Rudy back into the room, who breezed in with the usual impassive face. Roy reckoned he had probably been listening through the door, anyway. Ji-Yu made sure to size him up before clucking her tongue.

"Rudy, I have an important task for you, one that concerns the welfare of my son."

Rudy bowed deeply. "It would be my honour to help you, Your Majesty, and His Highness, in any way possible."

Roy threw up his arms. "See? That's pretty much swearing allegiance. Rudy's the _least_ suspicious person in the entire palace, anyway."

"I just like to be thorough," said Ji-Yu. She waved out a hand. "You may both go. I'm sure Roy can fill you in on the details."

The hallways were suddenly quiet in comparison to the office. Roy informed Rudy in whispers with the details of the spy within the Selected as they made their way back to Roy's bedroom, making sure to whittle to silence when they passed patrolling guards. If Rudy had been listening in through the office door, he hadn't shown it – his eyebrows rose and fell at all the right moments.

When they returned to Roy's bedroom, and shut the door, Rudy wrung his hands together.

"A spy…" he mumbled, glancing at the applications sheets still littered on Roy's desk.

Roy moved to them, staring at each picture with renewed caution. Suddenly, he didn't feel so reluctant to try anymore. Now he really did have to try – not for himself, but for the country. For his family.

Not only did he have to find a wife-able girl, but also a girl who was capable of betraying them all. And none of them looked like either right now.

"There's no way you're going to find out at the moment," said Rudy, prodding the applications. "It would be wise to first enact an elimination, then hope that the spy was knocked out from there."

"Mother's source would tell us, I guess, when the spy leaves." Roy gathered the sheets. "I need a way to visualise this. A way too… I don't know, keep track of everything we've learnt so far. If a Selected does something suspicious, I need to write it down somewhere."

Rudy frowned. "Well, I doubt it would be wise to keep such files littered on your bedsheets. It would need to be kept secure." His frown deepened. "Nowhere in the palace is entirely secure, you realise."

Roy nodded. Though there were passageways, and secret rooms, there wasn't a single place he could go to where a maid didn't come to clean once in a while, or a place where Roy wouldn't look suspicious going to every night. A place he may take a Selected, for fun. He leant his head back and stared at his ceiling, the mural of the city comforting him.

And thought came to him: the best place to keep tabs would be right here. His bedroom. He swung around, taking in his four-poster bed, the inbuilt wardrobe on the other side of the room, the loose mirrors, the trunks.

"Let's keep the Spy Files here," Roy said, stepping forwards into clear space, before stopping. "I mean, I'm not sure where. Maybe I could keep them in my underwear drawer."

But Rudy crossed his arms behind his back. "You don't think you'll have a girl in here at some point?"

That left Roy feeling cold. He hadn't thought about it, but Future Roy would probably be cursing Past Roy if he couldn't bring a girl into his bedroom at least once… for whatever reason.

"Crap. I guess you're right."

"However," Rudy began again, turning to face the door to Roy's bathroom. "I'd like to doubt you would bring anyone in there."

It was a start. Roy manoeuvred himself into the bathroom. The scent of clean linen hit him first, before the subtle gold of the tiles, and the gleam of the bathtub.

Roy turned to the wall with the door, holding out his hand to size it up. "Do you think we could hang a corkboard? Maybe if we pin the Selected faces there, we can start pinning notes and string and question marks. You know, like how they do in those movies."

Rudy cracked a grin. "You want the Selected to stare at you as you bathe?"

Roy flushed, seeing the double meaning too late. "T-That's not what I meant!"

"Oh, of _course_ it wasn't, Your Highness," Rudy said – he chuckled. "This isn't exactly orthodox in the slightest, but I suppose we can have a divider of some sort so you do have some privacy from the prying eyes of the, er, _Spy Files_. And I definitely couldn't allow anyone else to help me clean in here."

"That's fine with you, right?"

Rudy's nose wrinkled, and he smirked. "Well, given the state you leave your bathroom in, I doubt anyone would want to help me anyway."

Roy's expression crumpled. "You're mean."

"And you smell. Such a pity neither can be helped."

He did like that Rudy always kept him on his toes – always was willing to provide an honest, if blunt, opinion on anything and everything. Roy could see Rudy being dragged into the mess that was destined of his crazy love harem Selection, too.

He grinned. "Okay, touché. I set myself up for that one." He pumped his resolve. "Then it's settled. The Spyles will be hung on a corkboard in my bathroom, with a divider so I can actually shower in peace."

For the first time, Rudy crossed his arms, and tilted his head in incredulity.

"The _Spyles_?"

"It's a clever portmanteau of _Spy_ and _Files_ —"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "I know what you meant. It's just not very subtle. I would recommend you change it to something that you could say in front of the Selected, but doesn't draw their attention. Perhaps, if you wanted to point out something suspicious to me or Her Majesty, you could say it aloud."

Roy twisted his mouth, thinking. "How about the Corkboard of Destiny?"

"I would rather gouge out my eyes and take a cactus to a place where the sun does not shine, than call it," Rudy shuddered, "the _Corkboard of Destiny_ —"

Roy huffed. "You pick, then, oh great genius butler of mine. Would you like to run the country, too?"

Rudy didn't humour him. "How about just… the Board? It's subtle, has many meanings. Most would assume you mean an advisory board, or a physical board, or even _to be bored_ , rather than a board in which to keep tabs on the Selected."

 _The Board_. Why was Rudy so damn good at his job?

"Fine. We stick with the Board." He nodded firmly. "So, now we just need a divider."

"Leave that to me. I'll find you a corkboard as well."

Roy grinned. "Do I ever tell you how much I love you?"

Rudy sighed. "Yes. When you're drunk. You do go on about how great a butler I am… then proceed to wretch over my trousers."

Roy clapped his hand on Rudy's back. "What would I do without you?"

"Spontaneously combust."

"… Yeah." Roy nodded his head. "I guess that means I should… go see the Selected now."

"They would have been ready since this morning, as I understand," Rudy replied, a solemn tone taking him over.

Roy felt a pall of nerves scamper through him. He wondered if this was because he was about to meet thirty-five love interests, or one spy. Probably an amalgamation of both.

"Right, then," stalled Roy, taking a deep breath. "You start on the Board. I'll… go introduce myself."

"Good luck," Rudy said.

Roy knew he'd need a little bit more than that to make it out alive. Without another word, he strode out of the door, and down to the Women's Room, where the Selected would be waiting for him to make his appearance.

The Selected… and the spy.

 **=#=#=#=#=#=#=**

 **A/N:** Le gasp! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I post this from my hotel room in NYC, the last leg of my travels! By next week, I should be more productive with writing and replying to messages.

Character submissions are now closed (sans those who haven't finished forms yet/ reserved). Thanks for your characters! I'm in the process of choosing the Elite and the spies... dun dun dun! I am now open to taking throwaway character names, just for fun! Check my profile for more information!

All reviews, favourites, follows appreciated, as always. Next week... you'll meet the first group of Selected!

~ GWA


	6. The Selected, Part 1

Roy heard the voices wafting from the doors of the Women's Room – soft, feminine, high-pitched voices, something he wasn't used to hearing in large numbers.

Here he was. The Selected were waiting inside. Thirty-five Selected, one spy.

He tried to compose his face, which betrayed his nerves, and resisted the urge to knit his fingers together. He had to knock, to be invited in. His hand hovered over the door.

"Jun."

Queen Ji-Yu made him freeze, and for a moment, he could stall going into the Women's Room.

He turned to her – she came to a slow stop in front of him. A serious face had taken her over.

"You're going to meet them?"

"Yeah."

"Sashi, the Selection organiser, should already be inside," she said, more to herself. More for reassurance. "We'll go together."

Without warning, Ji-Yu nodded to the butler – and he opened the door.

"Announcing the arrival of Her Majesty, Queen Ji-Yu, and His Highness, Prince Roy."

The Women's Room enveloped his vision. The windows filtered in clean, sunny light. Groups of sofas pocketed areas of space, near white bookcases, coffee tables, and a fireplace. A cream grand piano sheened, stealing Roy's attention for just fleeting moments.

Then he saw. Thirty-five girls, rising to stand from the sofas, chairs, or window seats. Their faces had become familiar, now that he'd stared at their photos for so long. Such a mix – tall, petite, black, white, Indian, New Asian. Hair had been elegantly styled, so much that compared to the pictures, where many of them had just worn it down, it was overwhelming. And they were all in a myriad of dresses. Short, long, poofy, simple. Make-up had been perfected in the long time Roy had worked up the nerve to come down.

Even the few faces he did recognise were no comfort at all. Persephone, the advisor's daughter. Luna, the actress. Riley, the tour manager and old flame. His nerves felt brittle and ready to snap.

There was even a photographer too, skulking in the very corner behind the crowd. The first impressions of the wild prince. Pictures were going live from this event. Roy knew he'd have to put on his best behaviour.

One woman, who was particularly older than the rest of the girls, stepped forwards. Roy recognised Sashi, the organiser of his Selection. She cast a lazy smile over herself, and curtsied in her pink-and-gold sari. It draped around her in a waterfall of brightness. Still, it was hard to miss five pairs of earrings in her ears, or the henna tattoos over her neck, or the wild chocolate muss of hair over her tanned skin.

"Ah. Hey there, Roy, Ji," she greeted. Her voice was like a melody of softness, of relaxation in the summer time.

Roy forced a smile. Sashi was chill in comparison to both Roy and Ji-Yu, but it didn't make him feel any better – especially considering she knew nothing about the spy. And she was the organiser of the whole thing.

Ji-Yu nodded her head. Something knowing flashed behind her eyes. "Good to see you, Sashi."

Sashi stepped to the side, and splayed her arms in a gesturing stance. "Well. Here they are."

Roy gulped down a bundle of nerves in his throat, and the girls drew themselves into hasty curtsies.

Ji-Yu's focus moved to the Selected, and she crossed her arms. Her eyes blackened to something dark and foreboding. "Ladies," she spoke. Her voice was cold, distant. "Welcome to the palace. I trust you will enjoy yourselves here. However, whilst this is the palace to you, to me, this is my _home_ , and you will remember to treat it with respect."

She dared brush her gaze with the girls, who had formed a rough semi-circle. Many of them had shrunk into their dresses. Roy felt instant pity for them – he would shrink in fear if he were on the receiving end of her stares, too.

"Are we clear?" Ji-Yu barked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," they chorused back.

Roy dropped his shoulders. If he was nervous, he tried to imagine the Selected. As much as he was worried about his Selection, and the spy, he didn't want to petrify the Selected right from the get-go. That seemed to be Ji-Yu's superpower: terrifying people into submission. Maybe the spy would just up and leave, if she was scared enough.

He held up his hands, and smirked. "Okay, Mother. Nice job. Now they're all going to leave before I even meet any of them."

There were a few chuckles, but not many. No doubt, they were worried about offending Ji-Yu.

The corner of her lip turned upwards. "Mmm, if you don't scare them off yourself, that is. I'll leave you to it," she said. "If you have questions, ask Sashi. Merrick should be here in a moment."

She twirled on her heel, her dress flowing out like a blooming flower, and exited the room. The silence that stuffed itself into every nook and cranny made Roy feel sudden pressure on his lungs. He had to force himself to meet the eyes of every girl – some, he had to look up to, and others were so short he looked down at them even from their safe distance.

Sashi cocked a smirk at him. "Well, go on. Introduce yourself."

Roy had known Sashi since he was born, but it still felt odd when she was so casual with him.

Still, he had to talk at some point. He dragged up some cocky attitude and performed an elaborate bow, flinging out his arms.

"Prince Roy, ladies. Pleasure to meet you all."

Another knock sounded on the door, and Roy rose up.

"Would it be all right if my father enters?"

There were a round of nods, "yes"s, and relieved faces – the king was known to be far warmer than Ji-Yu. He even had a nickname: the Merry King. Always chipper and positive.

"Come in, Dad."

The butler opened the door and cleared his throat. "Announcing the arrival of His Majesty, King Merrick."

Merrick's head popped through first, and he split into a wide grin. Roy felt the atmosphere loosen along with him, as if Merrick had been the pin to a taut balloon.

"Good afternoon, Sashi! Good afternoon, ladies!" he said, stepping inside. "I hope you're all well, and that your flights here weren't too long. Welcome to Angeles, and the palace!"

Another round of curtsies flittered across Roy's vision. One girl grinned in response to him, and another breathed a sigh of relief.

Merrick gestured to Roy with open arms and an excited smile. "I'm sure you know Roy. Isn't he handsome? He gets that from me."

The girls giggled. Roy flushed, and whacked Merrick on the arm. "Gee, Dad!"

Merrick tittered. Before Roy could retort further, Merrick leapt off to the first girl on the right of the semi-circle – sticking out his hand, insisting that they all called him 'just Merrick'. Asking where they were from and what they did. Roy probably should have started with that, but with one of him and thirty-five girls, the idea seemed almost cartoonish to introduce himself so slowly.

At least the girls seemed more at home, now. Vanessa Hardy calmly answered all of Merrick's questions, whatever they were.

Sashi approached Roy and patted him on the back, grinning. "They won't bite, you know."

The spy caressed his conscience. Roy could only think that one girl would bite. And they would bite to kill.

A small chatter rose, and Roy decided he should take example from his father. He stepped over to the last girl in the semi-circle on the left, slightly distant from the others – he noticed her pale as he approached.

"You'll have to forgive me if I forget your name," he opened with, smirking. "I get that from my father, too."

The girl that stood in front of him had brown hair, curled into an elegant princess style on her head, though strands here and there fell loose. It matched her simple style well – a blue dress, falling down her figure like a cerulean river.

She gulped, pausing momentarily, but managed a gentle smile, and slowly lifted her hand for Roy to shake. "It's an honour to meet you, Your Highness."

Roy shook her hand. Surprisingly, it was flexible, and strong. "Would you tell me your name?"

The question seemed to make her blush. "Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. I'm Cassia Anderson. From Likely."

"Cassia," he said, trying to tag the name with her face. For some reason, it sparked something familiar in the back of his brain. "Cassia… do I know you from somewhere?"

She shuffled her feet, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. "Perhaps. I've… I've written a few books."

Now that he remembered it, he recalled seeing the name in Merrick's office, on his bookshelves. His eyebrows jumped.

"Oh!" he said. "Yeah! My father has read one of them, at least. Was it… _Looking Up_ , your newest? He read that in four hours. Really enjoyed it."

She seemed to brighten at this, and something giddy captured her smile. "Really? Your father?"

Roy winked. "Yeah! He'll probably fanboy hard when he comes over to you." He paused. "Even my mother read it, and she loved it, too. Couldn't stop gushing over your novel for days."

Cassia giggled. It was soft, like the chuckle of a newborn. "I doubt that, somehow."

She seemed soft and gentle, Roy decided. So the first girl he met was sweet and shy, and that was a good start. Perhaps there was the potential for romance?

His mind warped. Could her kind and calm persona all be a façade? Was she really the spy? Did she really have dark intentions when she shook his hand?

The thought bristled the hairs on his skin, and he stepped back. "Well, sorry for the short introduction, but I have another thirty-four I have to try and meet."

Cassia bowed curtly. "Of course, I understand."

He moved off to the next girl, but not without noticing that Cassia breathed a contented sigh of relief, smiled to herself, and twiddled with her thumbs.

In comparison, the next girl was so plain, he could scarcely remember her name and face, even as she reintroduced herself as Elara Cyr. It was as if she was made to be eliminated in the masses. The third girl – Jillian Reed – was the same, and the fourth, who was called Pauline Lucas. The fifth, Kirby Prescott, was overly brash. Another, Jane Crofton, had the audacity to complain about the wall colours in her bedroom. Roy tried to keep his smile, but he really hoped this girl was the spy – she was so stupidly callous about her feelings that she would be gone before she could even complain about the carpets, too.

The photographer wormed her way around, snapping candid shots of Roy conversing with each of the Selected. He could see her like a fly in his peripheral vision, and he wanted so badly to tell her to leave. Talking to his potential future wife was a personal matter, and the photographer was taking it away from him.

Still, as Jane Crofton rambled on and on about the wallpaper, Roy tried to remember that he needed to save his sinking reputation. Candid photos of him looking prim and proper were sure to help, and they were sure to ease Ji-Yu, as well.

Roy moved on, stopping at a gap in the semi-circle where a group of girls, who seemed to have already ganged up, had moved further back into the room. He'd wanted a one-on-one with everyone, one step at a time, but talking to one in a group of many would look, and feel, stupid. He felt a wallow of intimidation, but tugged his best smile.

He approached, but not before the tall, black girl approached him. He instantly remembered her – the girl his father had picked on for his 'instinct' example. Maeve Reynolds, the girl with the scar.

He tried not to stare as she came to an abrupt halt in front of him, and stuck out her hand.

" _My-eve_ Reynolds, Your Highness," she said – too late, she must have thought to curtsy, so performed an odd dance where she bent to the floor, grabbed the hem of her skirt with one hand and stuck out to shake her other.

Roy had to stifle a laugh. It was extremely comical, especially when her dress was this strange, poofy concoction – not at all suitable for her.

"Erm, My-eve?" he ended up saying, shaking her hand. It felt like she could pull his arm off.

Maeve stood back up, towering nearly a head above him. He noticed then, that the eye with the scar was an ever so slightly paler brown than the other. "Yes, Your Highness. _My-eve_. M-A-E-V-E. It's a little weird, I know; my brothers jokingly call me _Myve_. Like, _Five_. Ironically, I'm a Seven. But whatever – I love my name!"

Roy had never felt more bombarded in his entire life. Somehow, he already knew three things about Maeve. Did she ever stop?

Maeve signalled excitedly to the group behind her, who were smirking. "You should come meet the rest of us! We're real nice! Promise!"

He didn't have the chance to respond – Maeve grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the back. Then she flung out her hands, gesturing to the other three in their group.

Roy felt himself flush, his mind drawing to near blank. How could his poor brain handle learning four names at once?

The group were much more elegant in their approach to curtsy than Maeve's, and he decided to open first. "You'll have to forgive me if I forget my names. I have to try remember thirty-five," he repeated, grinning.

The first girl in the circle drew a taut smile, forced. She didn't look like she enjoyed Maeve's antics – or, maybe, Roy's own presence. Roy could detect some Native American roots in her: she had tanned skin, and wavy hair cropped in a bob. She regarded Roy with a mixture of respect and resignation.

"Camilla Daugherty, Your Highness," she said, tight-lipped, curtsying in a midnight blue asymmetrical that stroked the floor.

He nodded. "Nice to meet you."

She twisted her lips, and stiffened. "And you."

Roy had to wonder what was going through her head right now.

The blonde girl next to her smacked up a grin – and it brimmed with confidence. She stepped forwards, almost into Roy's personal space, and stuck out her hand. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders, twisted and curled, to match her strapless dress. It showed off her athletic figure well.

"Skylar Davenport, but I prefer Skye," she introduced. "You're looking good today, Your Highness."

Roy wasn't sure whether this was a compliment or an unsubtle attempt at flirting. Either way, it made Camilla Daugherty shift uncomfortably, Maeve Reynolds snort, and the third girl giggle. The photographer snapped a photo.

He shook Skye's hand, and she gripped tightly – as if he might slip away. "Nice to meet you, too." His hand had only graced less than ten others and already it was beginning to throb, but he smirked. "And thank you, but I know I always look good."

Maeve snorted again. "Right," she teased. "You looked _real_ good when you were trying to _twerk_."

Roy felt his lungs clench. He was never going to escape it, was he? Still, Maeve seemed to find it hilarious, on the brink of bursting out with laughter, along with Skye Davenport the same, covering her mouth. In contrast, third-girl and Camilla Daugherty were horrified.

Roy took the moment to think. Should he be offended? Probably, but then again, even he found some amusement in the photos. The _cringe_ stage had long passed. Now at least who could say he had a great time, and the pictures were proof.

He let out a laugh. "Hey, my twerking skills are top class, thank you. I could out-twerk all of you."

Skye made a low _ooooooh_ sound. Third-girl's eyes widened. Camilla paled, freezing stiff.

Maeve, however, let out a loud, booming laugh, that could have shattered glass if it'd lasted any longer. "Oh, you're _so_ on! You wanna' go right now? I'd be happy to show you up—" her face fell, and she fingered the lace fabric of her dress. "Well, maybe I shouldn't dance in this thing. If I could wear pants, however…"

She gazed down into Roy with pleading eyes. Roy absorbed her look in the dress.

"Oh," he said, realising. "You don't want to wear dresses?"

Maeve shook her head, with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, nah. I'm not really a dress person. I get that the Selected have to wear dresses though, so."

Roy wasn't sure he had much power in the women's wardrobe department, but he figured he'd try. "Well, you can pass onto your tailor that you want to wear trousers, if you'd like. Tell them Prince Roy himself requested it. Just make sure they're dressy trousers."

Maeve looked at him as if he'd just promised to move the sun, and she dropped to a floor bow. "Oh, my god, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She kissed his loafers. "I swear, you're gonna' be a great king. You let me wear pants. Bless you a thousand times—"

Roy could feel a burn on his cheeks. He thought back to the pictures. Was this how his mother felt when she saw them? But there was something hilariously sweet about the gesture. At least someone had promised devotion.

The photographer snapped a picture behind him.

"It's fine, really. You can stand up," Roy said. He shoved away the thought of the pictures, and the photographer, and regained his smirk. "And when you find a suitable pair, we shall" – he flung his hands out dramatically – "have a _twerk-off_."

There was a rush of excitement in Skye's eyes. "Can I judge? I'd so be up for it." She grinning madly, and pumped a fist. "This is gonna' be epic."

Maeve stood back up, brushing away her frizzy hair. "Then we have a twerk-off, Your Highness." She paused. "Never thought I'd ever say that."

Roy quickly remembered the third girl in the circle, who introduced herself as Jennifer Rally, but figured he'd spent too long with this group, and moved onto the next girl. Merrick had already overtaken him.

"Oh, hello, son!" he said, gesturing to the girl in front of him. "I was just talking with Lady Ambrosia Nichol, here. She's a model!"

The girl with the _immortal_ name. If he thought it was ironic before, it was twice as prominent in person. Her hair was braided into a strawberry-blonde plait, skewed to one side over her shoulder. She was definitely a model, with her slender figure fit well into a coral A-line dress, and just about Roy's height – but the only thing that threw him off was her posture. He expected models to be confident, outgoing, but Ambrosia's feet turned inwards, her shoulders hunched. Even talking to his father had scattered her gaze.

She flinched, staring at Roy with wide eyes, and a long blush flourished across her skin. It was even more obvious when it was unnaturally pale, as if the very sunlight in the sky avoided her.

"Y-Your Highness," she squeaked, sticking out her hand.

To be fair, she was talking to _two_ royals. Roy nodded his head, and smiled, hoping to ease her, and shook. It was small, shy, and short-lived, before she retracted her hand back.

He said, "Nice to meet you, Ambrosia."

Merrick clapped. "Oh, do tell him which magazines you have modelled for. It's all very fascinating."

Ambrosia's focus never left Roy. "Oh, erm. It's not that exciting. _The Illéan_. _Vogue_. _Illéa Today_."

Roy couldn't pretend he had read a woman's magazine in his life – heck, he didn't even read men's. But he had heard of all of them, and knew of their reputations. " _Not_ _exciting_?" Roy echoed. "Even I've heard of them."

"Yes!" Merrick chirruped. "Even _I_ have!"

Ambrosia managed a hiccupped giggle, but it sounded as if she were about to cry. Roy had never seen anyone so terrified. Even Merrick seemed to perturb her.

The photographer behind Roy snapped a photo, and he couldn't help but wonder what sort of reaction the public would have if the front page was a picture of a Selected near-weeping.

If Merrick detected this too, then he didn't show it. "So, Lady Ambrosia, would you mind telling me why you entered the Selection? This question interests me all the time."

It only seemed to put her into a frenzy. She wrapped her arms over her chest, her gaze finally ripping away from Roy's to the floor. "Oh, erm… it was my mother's suggestion," she responded quietly. "She thought it might be… a good idea…"

Merrick nodded. "Well, you're here! So I hope you enjoy yourself!"

Ambrosia couldn't nod fast enough. "Thank you. It's an honour." she managed.

Merrick moved onto the group. Roy locked eyes with her for another moment – hers, a deep blue, almost purple – and the frantic jitter within her died. She softened. The prominent flush swept over her cheeks fiercer than before.

"It's nice to meet you," she whispered.

Roy smiled. "You, too. And," he lowered his voice, "relax. No one is going to bite, least of all me or my dad."

Instead of smiling, Ambrosia frowned, but nodded slowly. Roy wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, but it was time to move on.

He swept through another number of girls, and came to pause at one he remembered. The other girl with a strange name – Sherlock Graves, with the dark skin, and the chocolate curls. Her dress was fantastically mad, with swathes of fabric curling out from her waist in shapes like twisted lily petals. She was deep in conversation with the girl next to her, whom he recognised as Blair Hunter – she was dressed in a dark blue dress that swayed near the hem.

He caught the tail-end of Sherlock's words. "—many blondes does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"

Blair cocked an eyebrow. "How many?"

A second afterwards, she caught Roy behind Sherlock – momentarily, Blair widened her eyes.

Sherlock didn't laugh. "One, because gender stereotypes about blondes and women are sexist and should not translate into their ability to alter electrical fixtures. Ta-da! Great joke. Great banter. Thank you, I'm here all night and, hopefully, for the next few months, too—"

Blair jerked her head, and Sherlock twisted around. She was taller than him, but her hair managed to slap Roy in the face. In those seconds, he smelt a flurry of ginger and jasmine, and wispy curls.

He heard a snap behind him.

Sherlock's hand flung to her mouth. "Oh, crud. I'm so sorry, Your Highness," she murmured. "I didn't even see you there."

Roy blinked, his expression disrupted by the hair-slap. "That's okay… I think?"

"Are you a ninja?" she said. "Because I didn't even _hear_ you."

Roy couldn't help but chuckle. "A ninja prince. That would be epic."

"That's my standard, I'm afraid. Ninja prince."

Roy adjusted his tie, with a smirk. "You'll be happy to know that I have a black-belt in jujitsu."

Sherlock smirked, too. "You're a prince that knows jujitsu, but not ninjutsu? Disappointing. Where's the door?"

Roy laughed, and suddenly he felt like he'd known Sherlock for ages. She stuck out her hand, and he took it, shaking confidently.

"Sherlock Amal Graves, Your Jujitsu-ness," she said, mocking a quick bow. "Before you ask, yes, I am a genius, and I do frequently retreat to my mind palace to think."

Roy guffawed again. Well, at least she could joke about her name. He glanced to the other girl, Blair Hunter, who was somewhere between staring and glaring at Roy. "Nice to meet you, too. What's your name?"

He already knew, but he guessed it would be a more formal greeting. Sherlock stepped back, and Blair drew up a charming smile.

"Blair Hunter, Your Highness," she said, curtsying. Her dark brown hair was tied into a loose ponytail, stiffened with hairspray. "It's… nice to meet you."

There was something different in her eyes – something fierce and blazing amongst the blue. Roy gulped down a sudden bout of nerves. Spy-worthy? Most certainly. Was she a spy? He had no idea.

He had no idea about anyone.

He bowed his head in greeting. "Pleasure to meet you ladies. I must move on, however."

"Make sure not to sneak! Announce yourself!" Sherlock teased.

Roy grinned, before moving on. He was already exhausted. So many people, so many names, so many different personalities. It was as if he was at an auction for people, and he was a bidder. He came next to a Hispanic girl, her brown hair braided around her head, and pinned with a headband of golden leaves. She screamed Greek in her chiton, too.

Seeing this as an opportunity, he mocked an elaborate bow. In heels, she was his height, and when he bowed, he reached her waist level. " _Carpe_ me _-em_."

The girl sounded puzzled. "I'm… sorry?"

Roy rose. Wait. _Carpe diem_ was _Latin_ , not Greek.

He pressed his lips together for a moment. "I was trying to make a joke. And I failed miserably."

The girl seemed to find this amusing, at least. "I'm sorry, I don't really understand it, so I suppose you did _fail miserably_."

"Just rub it in there," he said, with a wink. "What's your name?"

The girl cleared her throat. "Delia Colestrist, Your Highness. It's lovely to meet you."

"Then let me try again," said Roy. "It's nice to meet you, too, Delia. What do you do?"

The subject change seemed to make her shine. "I'm a painter, Your Highness."

"A painter!" That was exciting. "The portrait artists here are so drab. They make me look like a wet noodle. Do you think you could paint me? With, like, exquisite physique and enhanced handsomeness?"

Delia laughed, and added in a playful tone, "I'd have to do some serious work to paint that."

Roy stuck out his tongue, and struck a pose, sticking his butt out. "Draw me like one of your French girls."

She laughed again. Roy reckoned it was probably out of politeness. His humour was so stupid. He drew himself up before someone could tell him to stop being an idiot.

She quietened. "I'll paint you as the most exquisite and enhanced in the country."

Roy grinned. "I look forward to it."

He moved onto the next girl. Her hair was braided, with blonde highlights curling through the dark brown. It was simple, and chic in style. She curtsied when Roy stepped over.

"Your Highness," she said.

"Good afternoon," he greeted. "It's lovely to meet you…?"

"Kiersten Plank," she said, with a smile. "Though I doubt you'll remember it. There are thirty-four other girls. I wouldn't be surprised if you asked me again."

Well, she wasn't wrong. Roy nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, I'm terrible at names. Don't take offence. I'll learn everyone eventually."

She grinned, in a lopsided way. "Well, all I can say is good luck. I think my brain would explode."

"My brain has already exploded," Roy said, with a laugh. "But thank you. I'll try not to microwave it further."

Kiersten tilted her head. "I won't stand in your way."

He set himself to move on.

"Announcing the arrival of Her Highness," the butler cut through Roy's thoughts, "Princess—"

Gail marched into the Women's Room. Her dress wasmade of a cream tulle, held from a waist of pink flowers. She squealed, "Roooooy, I'm boooored—"

She stopped short – her saucer-eyes casting over the alien girls in the room, and froze stiff.

Roy scrambled forwards and scooped her up in his arms, with a flighty grin. "Gail, look! These are the Selected girls!" He fell into a whisper. "All _the Swan Princesses_."

Gail continued to stare. For moments, it looked like she was about to burst into tears. Then, her baby teeth gleamed out, and she waved.

"Pretty!" she said. There were several choruses of _aws_ amongst the group, and a girl stepped forwards – she bent her knees to match Gail's gaze, and her short pale blue dress, embroidered with purple flowers on the stems, touched the carpeted floor.

"Hi, there, Princess Gail," she said, with a soft rhythm of a voice. "It's nice to meet you."

Roy recognised her from his applications, but couldn't put a name to her face. Instead, he shrugged Gail to encourage her to talk.

Gail didn't need much convincing. "Do you like hockey?"

The girl laughed. "I've never played it, but I'm always up for something new! I sure could give it a go!"

"Ooooh!" said Gail, reaching her hands out to touch the girl's hair. It was thin, and an ash brown, wrapped into a sole curl that just breezed her shoulders. "I want this hair!"

"You can ask your hairstylist next time," Roy said. "Ask her to match the style of…?"

For moments, the girl was so enraptured in Gail's cuteness (which Roy couldn't really complain about) that she didn't even seem to hear him. She flickered her gaze from Gail to Roy, back, then to Roy again, and shot to stand, her hands by her side to attention. She was several inches shorter, and had to look up.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, probably louder than intended, and did a strange salute with her hand. "Elise Belmont, Your Highness!" She glanced at Gail, and her pale eyes seemed to melt. She cupped her cheeks. "Gosh, she's so much cuter in person!"

Gail flicked at her hair, lifted her nose and beamed. "I know."

Roy stifled a snort, and Elise laughed – so at least she understood Gail's humour.

"Do you like the Swan Princess?" asked Gail, her voice hopeful.

Not everyone would enjoy the fairy tales, Roy knew. But Elise brightened, like a neon sign at night time, and nodded eagerly.

"I _love_ the Swan Princess," she said, with a giggle. "But… have you heard of _Little Wildrose_? That one is my favourite."

Oh, god, another fairy tale. Roy couldn't help but smile, as Gail's face lit with awe.

"What's that?"

"A story of a girl living in a tree," said Elise.

Roy scrunched his face.

"A girl… living in a _tree_?"

Elise hesitated. "… Much better than it sounds."

Gail was clearly undeterred. "I wanna' hear!" she demanded – shaking in Roy's arms. "I wanna' hear!"

He popped Gail onto the ground, who went to tug on the hem of Elise's dress. "Manners, Gail," Roy chided softly.

The door opened, and Roy turned, spotting Lanna wheezing for breath. Her frizzy hair was even frizzier than normal – as if it were about to explode right from her head.

"Oh, there she is," she panted. "Ran off so fast I couldn't catch her. This is what age does to you!"

"Lanna!" Gail piped, running up to her. "Tell me _the Little Wildrose_!"

Lanna opened her arms to receive her, with a sympathetic smile. "Say _please_ , Your Highness," said Lanna.

Roy gestured to Elise. "I think Elise might be able to help. It's her favourite fairy tale."

A flush passed Elise, but she tilted her head, grinned sheepishly and waved her hand. "Oh, well, psssh. You know. I know it."

Lanna just laughed. "Yes, please do help. I need another set of eyes for this one. Welcome to the palace."

Roy left them to it, watching for a moment as Gail played excitedly with Elise's hair, and Lanna bounced her up and down in her arms. It was sweet, for Gail finally to have other girls to pal around with. Hopefully, she would find a sister amongst the group, too.

He felt a sudden wave of sadness. Imagine if Elise Belmont was the spy. Gail was going to interact _with the spy_.

He whirled around from the scene, holding his composure. The spy could hurt him. The spy could hurt his country. But _never_ would he allow the spy to hurt his sister.

He locked away the thought. Whoever they were, they wouldn't reveal themselves so early into the competition. Gail should be safe… for now. He just had to keep an eye on her. He lifted his head, catching the eyes of the some of the waiting Selected. One of which was Riley, whom he had decided to hold back from as long as possible.

He was about to start towards another group again, when a distinctive high-pitched voice screamed from the other side of the door.

"I _demand_ to see the prince! Is he in there?! Announce me and let me in!"

Something awful slammed into Roy's gut.

Oh, god. It was _Lady Katrina_.

He twisted to face the door, again. Lanna, Gail and Elise had moved out of the way – just in time, it seemed, as the doors flung wide open, colliding into the doorstops. The bang sent the room into complete, utter silence.

"P-Please, my lady, this is highly unsuitable—" the butler stammered. "E-Erm, announcing the a-arrival of Lady Katrina Berg."

She stormed inside, bringing an entourage of anger all over. Her blonde hair had been coiffed into an elegant bow-shape upon her head, fixed with three pink ribbons flying out from the back. Her dress matched, looking like, to Roy, a generous helping of cotton candy: strapless, poofy, and on a stick.

She zeroed in on Roy and marched over, the stomp of her wedge heels like crackles of thunder.

" _You_!" she yelled.

He held out his hands in a surrendering pose, begging whatever god there was out there that Katrina would calm down. "K-Katrina—"

Roy didn't have time to defend himself. She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him from the Women's Room. Pain seized him, and he shrieked, but found himself unable to break free from Lady Katrina's hold.

The last thing he saw when Roy was dragged away, into the corridor, was the photographer. Taking a final photo.

 **=#=#=#=#=#=#=**

 **A/N:** Oh no! Silly Roy :P Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and the introduction to the first lot of Selected! I tried to give them about equalish words of intro (relative to the number of people in the conversation), but it was easier to write some characters than others. Don't worry! Less screen time does not equal less likely to go far. I just need some time to get into their heads, lol.

Submitters, what did you think? Please let me know what you think about how I portrayed your character! I scoured over your submission forms for days, lol. Submitters whose characters have not yet been featured, or readers, which character did you like best so far? Start rooting for someone! It's more fun!

As always, reviews, favourites and follows are immensely appreciated.

~ GWA


	7. The Selected, Part 2

Katrina's hold on Roy's ear didn't relinquish once, even as she yanked him out of the Women's Room and into the hallway. The guards shuffled on their feet, and Roy could see they were unsure whether or not to intervene a young lady grabbing hold of the prince.

He felt his ear pop several times, and finally, he grabbed her arm and pulled her off. "K-Katrina!" he snapped. "You didn't have to drag me out—"

Katrina swung around. Her poofy pink dress bubbled around her frame. "Oh, didn't I? Where was _my_ apology, Roy? Huh? What about the embarrassment _you_ caused _me_?"

His mind flew back. Yes, he had puked on her stupid blue shoes. Today, his mind irritatingly noticed that she was wearing the same style, but pink to match her dress. And her face, which had flushed with anger and humiliation.

She waggled her finger, before he could reply. "So I _tried_ to contact the palace, but everyone kept turning me away. Kept hanging up on me. Finally, I grew tired, so I came here _myself_ to find you. And now I _demand_ an apology!"

Roy bit back his annoyance, and held up his hands again. "Look, fine. I'm sorry. Those were some nice shoes. I'll have them replaced—"

She whacked him in the arm with her purse, and he yelped. "You idiot! I want a _public_ apology!" she yelled. "Say it on the Report! Speak to the press! I don't care! My reputation is _soiled_ because of you!"

Roy resisted every urge to let out a scathing laugh. Katrina, he knew, had _willingly_ entered that club, _willingly_ got drunk, and _willingly_ danced with an equally-intoxicated Roy who had mentioned multiple times that his stomach was heaving. Katrina went to clubs as frequently as he did. She just, somehow, managed to slip away before the paparazzi arrived.

"Hey, you went to that nightclub too. It's not _my_ fault you happened to be there, forcing me to dance, and your ugly wedge heels triggered my nausea—"

She let out a loud growl. "If you weren't the prince, I swear, I would have already shoved my _ugly_ _wedge heels_ so far up your—"

"L-Lady Katrina!"

Merrick's voice cut through, and Roy felt a heaving relief on his chest. Merrick scampered up to them, breaking free from the confines of the Women's Room, a dishevelled smile slapped onto his face.

Katrina caught herself, straightened her back, and somehow regained a morsel of grace, bowing deeply. All traces of anger dissipated. "Your Majesty, it is a honour to see you."

Merrick came to a stop, one step in front of Roy, between him and Katrina. Roy couldn't be more thankful that Merrick had fallen into _protective dad_ mode.

"Are you well?" he managed. "You seem rather… upturned."

She soured at the word. "Forgive me, Your most gracious Majesty, but Prince Fitzroy here has managed to ruin my reputation and the reputation of my socialite's club, Midknight, in Angeles. I have come here to _plead_ for respite from such tragedies thrust upon me."

Roy nearly choked. _Plead_? More like _force_.

Merrick managed a more contained smile. "My son has unfortunately committed acts that cannot be taken back. He has made an apology to the nation. Is there anything else he can do to make it up to you?"

Katrina slid her eyes to meet Roy's. "I would like a public apology addressed to _me_ , and to my socialite's club."

He could feel his body shrink, but clutched to the back of Merrick's arm. _Make her go away,_ he thought. Merrick tensed, but smiled.

"How about Roy make a visit to your club and address them personally? I'm sure that will ease your sorrows. The press can be present to take photos and write articles."

The idea seemed to tumble back and forth in her head, with a stirring behind her eyes, calculating a million different outcomes. She was crafty, Lady Katrina. She would wring this out for all it was worth.

She managed an uptight sneer. "Yes, that would be appropriate, _if_ Your Majesty is willing to accompany him." Her words slithered. "And a replacement of my shoes wouldn't be remiss."

Merrick couldn't nod more eagerly. "Of course! If you'll contact my tailor, she'd be happy to assist you in finding a replacement. As for the socialite's club, you just give us a time and date, and Roy and I will accommodate as best we can. Does that satisfy you?"

Katrina's eyes glimmered, and she slid them to focus again on Roy.

"For now, Your Majesty. I am satisfied," she said. "If I may be so bold to ask for a moment with Fitzroy alone?"

Roy felt a pair of claws seize him. Oh, god, please don't let him stay with Katrina alone. He might have to ask one of the guards to stand between them.

Merrick frowned for the first time, casting over her and the entrance to the Women's Room. "He is supposed to be talking with his recently Selected, Lady Katrina, but he can have a few minutes." He managed a sweet smile. "I must be going, anyway. Just… keep your voices down?"

Katrina bowed. "Of course."

Merrick stepped away, staring intensely at Roy. _Please don't rile her further_ , Roy imagined him saying. Wordlessly, Merrick removed himself from the situation, retreating down the hallway, and around the corner, gone.

Katrina's disgust became obvious once more. "Yes. You're having a Selection."

Roy stiffened. "Yeah. What of it?"

"There is one more thing I desire. I want in."

Roy choked on the air, his stomach contracting hard. Katrina? Part of his _Selection_? Why? She loathed the very ground he walked on.

Or… maybe…?

He smirked. "Is this your low-key way of telling me you fancy me?"

It was Katrina's turn to choke, and held a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. "Oh, dear _lord_ , you are so full of yourself. I wouldn't _enter_ your Selection, you moron. I wouldn't want you if you were ripped, wrapped in a bow, and smuggled amongst a box of puppies."

Roy sniffled. "I _have_ a six-pack," he said, offended.

"In the _fridge_ doesn't _count_ ," snapped Katrina. She drew herself up, was just centimetres taller than Roy. It was enough to look down upon him. "I want to be around as it happens. I want to meet the Selected. I want interviews, pictures, activities. I want everything they have, except I don't want _you_."

Dread filled Roy. He couldn't stand Katrina. Heck, why did he even party with her? She was more fun when drunk, and usually tended to be out when he was, anyway – which was the _only_ reason they ever hung out. Now she was going to be the mole in his side, poisoning the minds of the Selected with her fickle, petty attitude.

Still, he couldn't fathom why she'd want to hang around with him when she, no doubt, felt the same way.

"Why? Why on earth would you want to hang around during my Selection?"

She sneered, wrinkling her face. "It's the only thing that would truly spare my reputation. You and King Merrick can apologise all you want, but unless it is _shown_ that you and I are on good terms, and that I have at least regained some sense of dignity, then no one will ever look at me with respectful eyes again. Involving myself with your Selection will do just that." She darkened. "This is all thanks to _you_ , by the way, and that stupid photo of me, my shoes, and your _vomit_."

Every instinct in Roy dragged down into his legs. He wanted to shove her away and force her to never return. He probably had that power. But, even with Katrina's 'soiled' reputation, she had some sway in the public eye. She would make sure he never recovered from those photos, even with a wife, ever again.

He hoped she wouldn't get herself killed. With the spy about, he had more than enough to worry about than Katrina's safety.

He clenched his fists. " _Fine_. But if you do anything out of line, you're out."

Katrina's smile flared with a win. "I expect a room ready in the morning. Make sure it has a view of the gardens."

"Of course," Roy ground out, mentally noting to make sure her room had a splendid view of the garages.

She swung on her hips to turn, and flickered her hand at a guard. "You, there. Please escort me to the exit."

"Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out," Roy muttered.

Katrina's figure melted away, with the poor guard in tow, and Roy moved to the wall and slipped down, already exhausted. A Selection. A spy. Rebels. Ji-Yu. The paparazzi. Katrina. Why was his life even more complicated than before he'd started this stupid thing?

"Are you all right, Your Highness?" said the nearest guard, hovering awkwardly.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said, feeling anything but.

"Would you like me to fetch someone?"

"Yes," said Roy. "Send Rudy to the Illéan Drawing Room. And ask someone if they can have tea brought up."

The guard bowed. "Right away."

With the guard gone, Roy rose to his feet, and stumbled down to the drawing room. He needed a break. He needed tea.

He needed to talk with Rudy about how much harder this was going to be.

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy had finished three cups of chamomile by the time Rudy hustled down. This particular drawing room in the furthest left wing of the palace, named after the country, was Roy's favourite. The comfortable lounge sofas, the small coffee tables, the crackling fireplace. Bookshelves rose on the far wall, and clean, afternoon light glittered on the ornate carpet. It was a room he went to when he felt frazzled.

"Tired, Your Highness?" said Rudy, slipping inside, and sitting opposite.

"Very," he said.

Roy went on to explain the fiasco with Katrina. How she forced him to allow her to be a part of his Selection. It brought back a memory of nausea, pulling from somewhere in his stomach.

Luckily, the room was empty – so if he did get sick, no one would ever know. Rudy clasped his hands together.

"I see," he said. "A handful, as always." He glanced up at Roy. "Have you even met all of the Selected, yet?"

"That was my second point," Roy said, with a sigh. "I've only met less than half of them, but Katrina exhausted me so much I thought I'd come here for a break. They're probably all waiting for me to return."

Rudy leant back in his chair, rubbing at his pointed chin. "It is rather unfortunate that she decided to take her revenge now, when we already have a" – he looked around, double-checking, and fell to a whisper – " _spy_ to worry about."

Roy pursed his lips, suddenly thinking. Was Katrina spy-worthy? She certainly had the motivation to be. "You don't think Katrina could be the spy, do you? I know she's not one of the Selected, but…?"

Rudy's eyes glossed over. "I don't think so. She's a socialite. A scandal like this wouldn't just ruin her. It would _bury_ her." He paused. "She probably heard your apology along with Selection announcement. Perhaps she decided it was the wisest to find you then, when you were just making your first impressions on the Selected."

Roy's shoulders dropped. If she was the spy, Roy wouldn't have been at all surprised. And he wouldn't have had any trouble at all asking for her to be locked up underground, never to see even a sprinkle of daylight again. So, was this all a stupid ploy to make him look bad in front of thirty-five potential wives? He didn't exactly need her help. The photos had done everything for him, anyway.

"The Selected," Rudy said. "How are they?"

Roy felt himself shrivel. He recalled the girls he talked to already. "They all seem… nice. It's hard to box them into one group."

"Have any ideas which one could be… _you know_ _who_?"

Roy smiled weakly. "Voldemort?"

Rudy darkened. "Not funny."

Roy slurped a laborious sip of chamomile, before replacing the cup and saucer down on the coffee table. "I have no idea, Rudy. They all seem civil with me. One girl – Cassia; she writes novels that Mother and Dad have read. Another girl was so shy she could hardly meet my gaze. That was Ambrosia. Kiersten, who thinks my brain has exploded. There was Maeve, who kissed my feet and agreed to have a twerking contest against me—"

"Good _lord_ ," Rudy muttered.

"—then there was Sherlock, who made constant jokes; Camilla, who was polite, but gave me evils; Blair, who seemed way too charming; Skye, who told me I looked good; Delia, who is going to paint me like one of her French girls, and Elise, who likes fairy tales as much as Gail does."

He felt his butt sink into the chair. "How am I supposed to figure this out? And I haven't even met the rest, yet!"

Rudy leant back. "Perhaps you should. It would be wise that you do, at least, before making any… preliminary judgements about the spy, and who to eliminate."

Roy laughed. "Oh, I have a vague idea who to eliminate from the get-go," he said, thinking about the callous girl with the wallpaper angst.

"Keep them in mind. How about I round up the girls who have yet to meet you and send them down here one-by-one, where you can have about five minutes talk with each? I'm sure you'll be able to tell if you feel a…" Rudy rooted for the words, " _connection_."

It was a good idea. Roy didn't think he could show his face in the Women's Room for a while after that spectacle with Katrina, dragging him out by ear. And it was a way to ascertain that he wouldn't have to remember four names at once.

"Okay, I like that," Roy said. "Let's do it."

It took Rudy ten minutes maximum to round up the rest of the Selected, waiting patiently outside the door to the drawing room. Rudy had even had Roy's chamomile teapot topped before inviting the first girl in line inside.

She peered her head around the door, her neat blonde hair wrapped into a bun upon her head. Her dress reached her knee, brushing against the door.

Roy stood up, smiled, and gestured to the seat opposite. "Come in."

The girl cleared her throat, but said nothing, tiptoeing over to where Roy was sat. Light curled around her, brightening the quaint smile on her face, and she curtsied once near enough not to make it awkward.

"Your Highness," she greeted. "I am Alisa Orlov. Thank you for calling me down here."

Roy could detect a Russian twang, mixing into Alisa's accent. Russian was one of his favourite accents to listen to – especially in women. He melted slightly and fell back into the chair. "Not at all."

She shuffled on her feet, but sat down. "I know it's my place to say, but… I'm sorry about… erm… your friend…"

Ah. Katrina. Hardly worthy of the word 'friend'.

Roy pressed his lips together for a moment. "So am I." He paused. "Would you like some tea?"

She scrunched her lips together, her cheeks puffing. "Please."

A quiet one. Roy had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be able to hear much of her sweet accent if they kept on like this.

Rudy stepped out from the shadows, and poured her a teacup. She said nothing, instead clasping and unclasping her hands, and bumping her knees together. Rudy also refilled Roy's cup – maybe this was relaxing him too much.

He leant back into the sofa. "So, Alisa. Where are you from?"

She piqued. "Whites."

Roy backtracked. "I meant the… accent?"

Alisa's eyebrows furrowed. "I am from Whites."

 _Awkward_. "Oh."

Alisa's chest pushed out, and she lifted the cup to her lips. "My parents are Russian. I happened to pick up the accent from them."

Roy recalled absolutely bombing his language lessons with his tutor. "Do you know any Russian?" he asked. "Ahem. _Vash aktsent seksual'no_."

The cup in Alisa's hand wavered, and she suddenly choked – forcing down the chamomile in her throat. Rudy shot forwards with a napkin, but luckily, she'd managed to keep the tea in her mouth.

She forced it down, and broke into a soft laugh. "Erm. Thank you?"

"Was it bad? It's the only thing I remember in Russian."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Well, telling me my accent is, ahem, _sexy_ isn't all bad, I suppose. But yes, your pronunciation could use some… work."

Roy could hear Rudy softly groan. Heh.

Alisa spoke up, though it looked like a lot of effort. "Why do you know that phrase in particular?"

Roy grinned. "I asked my tutor to teach me for a conference in Russia." He faltered. "It didn't go down well with the diplomats…"

Alisa's face lit up with courteous amusement. "No, I can see why." She leant back. "This tea is wonderful, by the way."

"Why, thank you," said Roy. "Handcrafted by the finest tea-maker in all of Illéa: some English guy. And brewed by Rudy," – he gestured shortly to Rudy, who shifted awkwardly – "Do you like tea?"

A bounce flowed into Alisa, and she nodded. "Yes. I'm a chef."

"You would _love_ the kitchens," said Roy. "Maybe we should go there together at some point."

A flush the colour of Rudy's hair kissed her cheeks, and she stared at the carpet. "Oh, yes, that would be lovely."

Something flickered in Roy's mind. He'd just asked for his first date with a Selected (if one didn't count the twerking contest). He found himself simultaneously excited and sick all at once.

He would probably date the spy. The _spy_.

He swept up his composure and stood. "Well, sorry to cut this short, but I have about twenty more people to meet. I hope you don't mind."

Alisa stumbled to a stand. "Of course, Your Highness." She couldn't look him in the eye. "I hope we talk soon."

"We will. I want to hear more of that _seksual'no_ accent," he joked.

Alisa flushed, performed a jerked curtsy and left the room. The silence ballooned, and Roy fell back onto the chair again.

"Really, Roy?" Rudy said, snapping the silence in half. "A _sexy accent_?"

"What? Russian accents _are_ sexy."

"And you said that to the Russian _diplomats_?"

Roy didn't have chance to reply, as the doors burst open. A girl, distinctly Hispanic, ate lengths of the floor with her strides. The hem of her dress licked the carpet like flames, from a sparkly asymmetrical outfit. The stream of air is created from the momentum fluttered her wavy dark-brown hair over her shoulder.

" _Prince Roy_!" she yelled, as if he hadn't already noticed her.

Roy shot to stand. "Oh, _crap_ , what did I do—"

From behind her, she produced a newspaper. His naked bosom was plastered so beautifully on the front page. What _didn't_ he do?

Roy felt a wave of embarrassment. _Oh, shi—_

"You're the crown prince! The heir to the throne!" the girl demanded, throwing out her hands. "Explain!"

"I-I don't even know you!" Roy mumbled, as if that would come to his defence.

The girl grit her teeth. "You're a total _idiota_!" she yelled. "Do you think people will respect you with this behaviour?!" She moved over and slammed the newspaper onto the coffee table. Roy's butt shone in glorious black-and-white. "And with that display in the Women's Room with Lady Katrina? You're an even bigger _idiota_!"

Roy slid his eyes in a silent plea to Rudy. But Rudy seemed to find the whole spectacle hilarious, unable to hold back his guffawing. There was no help from him.

"Please calm down," Roy said. "I know I'm an… an _idiota_. I've already apologised."

"Well, I would like a _personal_ apology, Prince Roy. Do you know what my Papa said when I was Selected for Waverly?"

Roy thought this was a rhetorical question, but the silence that followed showed that it wasn't. "Erm." He flickered his gaze to the photo and back to the girl. "What a nice butt I have?"

" _No_!" The girl jabbed an olive finger at the photo. "He said, "what an _idiota_ , that prince i _s_ "! And he was right! And if I'm going to take part in this competition, I want an apology for all this!"

"Okay, okay!" He sucked in an earnest breath. The room stilled for moments. "I'm sorry."

Her steeled face regarded him with a mixture of annoyance and potential. Silence curtained the surroundings, and a hint of appreciation snagged her lips for moments.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

There was sincerity in her voice. She'd meant it.

Roy couldn't help a question that jumped onto his tongue. "Though I have to wonder… why did you enter my Selection, then?"

This seemed to put the girl on hold, and she hesitated, before grinding her teeth. "I entered to see the palace kitchens."

She didn't even want him? Was that grounds for becoming a spy?

"Oh, well, erm…" Roy said, groping for anything to say after that display of fire. He remembered the gentle Alisa, the complete opposite to this girl, and drew on that. "There's another girl. Alisa Orlov. You should go see the kitchens with her."

The girl dithered for a moment, then crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "You mean you're not even going to take me yourself?"

She muttered something in Italian. Unfortunately, it didn't sound anything like _your accent is sexy_.

Roy sat back down. The chamomile had made him ill. "Well. This has been an enlightening talk…?"

She glared at him. "You don't even know my name?"

"Erm," Roy mumbled. "Should I?"

"Yes! You're supposed to learn all the Selected's names beforehand!"

He had definitely seen the girl's face amongst his application forms, but her yelling was putting his brain into an entirely different mindset. Could he do anything right with this girl?

After moments of silence, the girl sighed. "It's… Chiara Isabella Romani-Carriedo. Don't forget next time."

Roy winced. If there was a next time.

In that moment, she softened – just for seconds, Roy could see a new side to Chiara. A side that shined. "Your sister is very cute. And I appreciate your apology. I do."

She cleared her throat, and the softness evaporated. "Well. It has been good talking to you, Prince Roy. You have a line of Selected waiting for you. Make sure you don't forget their names, either."

"Yes, ma'am," Roy said.

Chiara rounded her eyes to Rudy, back to Roy, and lifted her head. "Good. Enjoy the rest of your day."

She left in a maelstrom of red and fury. Roy sunk his head into his hands. He'd just had the scolding of his life by one of his Selected. The crumpled newspaper stole space on the coffee table, and his cup of chamomile had spilt droplets onto the photo. His butt began to wrinkle.

"She was… something," said Rudy.

Roy wanted to tell Rudy that she was out, immediately. But that softness, the appreciation of Gail and his apology and how she'd really meant how appreciative she was… it was there, and it intrigued him more than he wanted to admit. Part of him felt a breathless wind escaping from him.

Rudy smirked. "You looked rather starstruck," he said. "Did Lady Chiara interest you, despite the attitude?"

"She's kinda'… hot," Roy mumbled.

"Dear _lord_."

Roy waved him away. "Yeah, yeah. It's just a change from 'quiet and dainty', all right? Whatever."

Rudy cleaned up the coffee table, giving Roy a moment of silence from the trailblazer. The newspaper was chucked into the bin, the tea cups replaced for cleaner ones, and the birch wiped down of erratic spills.

Rudy frowned. "Are you sure you don't want me to step outside? I've known you since you were twelve, and watching you attempt to court with girls is…" he fished for the right word, " _strange_."

"Please stay," said Roy, a silent plea. "If the equivalent of Lady Katrina appears, or a more violent Chiara, I will need backup."

"Yes, I suppose that wouldn't do." He glanced at the door. "Though I doubt I would be much help if one decided to attack you."

Roy realised that his words rang especially true. If the Selected spy appeared, and pulled out a knife, and Roy was unprepared, how screwed would he be? Black belt in jujitsu didn't make you extremely vigilant. Maybe ninjutsu would have been helpful here.

He straightened. "I hope the next Selected doesn't make me want to cry."

"Or melt into a puddle of mushy feelings."

Roy slanted a glare to Rudy, who didn't meet him, but the ghost of smile tugged on his lips. The next Selected appeared, and the next – but both were so unmemorable that Roy had to stifle several yawns that wanted to escape him. They were out, no doubt about it.

The next Selected that entered was a familiar face, one that he had been avoiding: Riley Aldaine, a girl in between being an old flame and not. She stepped into the room with the same laidback confidence that he remembered, her back bare in her bohemian dress. Her hair was dyed blonde and plaited around her head. Dried flowers had been pinned into the twists.

She drew a lazy smirk, and Roy felt something switch on inside of him. A light that had been abandoned – but abandoned for good reason.

"You're _still_ single?" she said, not even bothering with a proper greeting. That _was_ her greeting.

Roy pried a smirk. "You're here, so that means you're still single, too."

Riley fanned her fingers out and lifted her head, a free smile blessing her lips. "Maybe I'm not. Maybe I have a super hot boyfriend waiting for me back in Atlin."

Roy stuck his tongue out. "Not as hot as me."

She swung her head back and laughed. Same old Riley.

She plopped herself down opposite Roy and poured herself a cup of tea, glancing up at Rudy. "Still putting up with him, I see?"

Rudy allowed himself a sly smile. "Unfortunately."

The three of them had been on tour together – Roy touring the provinces, Rudy his right-hand, and Riley the organiser of the tour. The Three Rs.

Riley cracked a grin. "So," she began again, looking to Roy. "What've you been up to since the tour - what was it, over a year ago, now? Apart from," she smirked, "fantastical naked feats."

Roy sipped at his tea. "Fantastical naked feats is pretty much the highlight of my life at the moment. Save from the Selection, of course. You?"

She swirled her teacup. "You remember Larson Vree's, right? My tour company?"

"Of course."

She smiled, as if the thought relaxed her, and sank into the sofa. "I'm still working for them, touring. I'm currently managing Vana Tyler right now. I was actually in Angeles when I found out I was chosen for the Selection."

Roy sucked in a breath. Of course, Roy's tour of Illéa was when he and Riley had become slightly more than friends, but not quite a _thing_. They both liked parties, and they both became a little wild. But things had to end, and Roy had known it.

Now she was here. Now he was actually allowed to romance her.

But did he _want_ to?

Roy felt a snag of a frown within him. "Why?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Why what?"

"Why did you enter my Selection, Riley?" he whispered. "I thought I'd… ended things pretty clearly."

Her mood tumbled – he could see it, the fun and fire dying in her brown eyes. She sighed and put the cup down onto the table. Her shoulders tensed.

"You did. I know," she said. "But you ended things because I wanted to go further, and you didn't. You ended things because I wasn't a noble, just your tour manager. And I know the rules: royals can't just sleep with anyone, to 'preserve image', or whatever." She looked him dead in the eyes. "But now I'm here. I'm in the Selection, and now I'm no longer out of bounds or forbidden."

Riley returned to her less-than-serious state. "If you want to eliminate me from the get-go, that's fine. I'll understand. But we get along well, so… I wanted to see if we had a real shot together."

Did they? The question revolved around his head. The answer came into his mind covered in froth and fog.

"Oh, and, obviously, the beds. They say they have the best beds in the entirety of Illéa here. Super soft and feathery," she stuck out her tongue, and suddenly the mood in the room improved.

Roy had to laugh. The tenseness in his shoulders was gone. "The finest in all of Illéa. That's how I turned out so handsome. All the beauty sleep."

She laughed too, and stood up. "Thanks for the tea, Rudy," she said. "You have a lot of girls waiting."

"Yeah," said Roy, still dazed.

Riley winked. "Relax, all right? No one wants to kill you."

Roy felt his lungs puncture. But someone _did_.

Could Riley be the spy? He tried to imagine how he would feel if Riley _was_ the spy.

She curtsied, and filed out of the door in her usual bounce. Roy felt himself at a loss for words – so much so that even the sounds of Rudy clearing Riley's cold teacup didn't bring him back to the present.

"The next girl, Your Highness?" Rudy prompted, after minutes in silence.

For now, Roy had to let Riley breeze from his mind. He needed to focus.

"Yeah, er," said Roy. "Bring in the next Selected."

Rudy obeyed. The next girl entered – tailed by a second girl.

Roy hesitated. "I'm sorry. I asked for one girl at a time."

The girl at the front curtsied. Her dress was plain, simple, and rather shabby compared to the other Selected. Her hair was cut pixie style, so blonde it was nearly silver, and it contrasted with her brown eyes, the colour of burnt walnuts. She was even more petite than the girl behind. A pair of ginormous hoop earrings dragged her ears down.

"My apologies, Your Highness," the girl spoke. "Lady Lilly Carter is a recognised deaf, and can only communicate with Illéan Sign Language. I am her translator, Eulalia Shields."

Roy raised his eyebrows. There was a _deaf_ girl in his Selection?

The girl behind, Lilly Carter, stepped forwards, and curtsied. She had a smile on her face, bright, encircled by thick locks of curled blonde hair. Her casual tea dress was paler, but still golden, and the top-half was like a wreath of embossed honey leaves.

Roy stood up, suddenly unsure of what to do. "Er, nice to meet you, Lilly."

Eulalia brought up her hands and made elaborate signs, weaving her fingers into shapes, brief and sharp. Lilly nodded, signing back. Roy watched them, in their silent conversation, feeling rather third-party. How was he ever going to have a moment alone with Lilly? Would all their communication be through signing and body gestures, and through another person?

Eulalia cleared her throat. "Lady Lilly says that she is honoured to be in your presence, and hopes that her hearing loss will not be a problem in communicating with you."

And if he wanted to go further with Lilly? Was he going to have to get the translator to sign _I love you_ , too?

Roy let out a curt sigh. "No, no, of course not. Please, sit down, Lilly, and Eulalia."

Lilly sat down, and Eulalia too. A distinctive flush had washed over Lilly, but it didn't seem to deter her. Eulalia, meanwhile, looked rather shocked at the delicacy of the teacups, and engravings of the napkins.

"You're welcome to have some tea, ladies. Rudy" – he slanted his eyes to his butler – "can you put out another tea set for Eulalia?"

Eulalia's eyes widened to orbs. Lilly seemed to find the gesture sweet, as she pressed her hands together and beamed at Eulalia. Rudy snapped into action, pouring another teacup of chamomile.

"Er, thank you, Your Highness," said Eulalia.

Lilly began to sign. Eulalia blinked into work.

" _How is your day?_ " she translated.

Roy inhaled the question. It was a nice, simple start to a novel, unique situation for him.

"Quite busy. I'll bet my left arm you didn't need a translator to know that Katrina was off the _handle_."

Lilly laughed – it sounded strange, to finally hear her voice. It was sort of like a flock of birds chirping at once. Oddly pleasing, but somewhat scratchy and unpractised. She signed as she laughed, and Eulalia grinned.

" _I hope she didn't hurt you too much, Your Highness_."

Roy blew out a sigh. "Yeah, I don't think my poor ear will recover. She has a grip like iron."

Lilly laughed again – and Roy had to sit up and ask, "How do you know what I'm saying before Eulalia has fully translated it? Are you… psychic?"

Eulalia had to translate this line. Lilly nodded, and solemn face taking her over. She signed.

" _I can lip-read_ ," Eulalia said. " _It's not perfect, but it helps_. _Not psychic, unfortunately_. _I wish I was_."

"I don't know any Illéan Sign Language," Roy mused. "Would you teach me some?" He didn't think _your accent is sexy_ would quite work the same with Lilly. "I don't know, maybe… _how are you_?"

Lilly nodded, and there was eagerness pooling in her eyes, like steam rising from hot chocolate. Roy had to wonder how many people would want to learn Sign Language if they didn't have deaf family or friends.

"Oh, an easy one!" Eulalia chirped, signing to Lilly.

Lilly turned to face Roy, sweeping her dress down. Roy found himself unable to look away from her – her cheerful smile like a morning sunrise. She cupped both of her hands and pressed her fingers together to her chest, and circled them upwards. Then, she pointed to Roy, leaning forwards.

Eulalia nodded. " _How are you_?"

Roy mimicked Lilly's movements. " _How are you_?" he echoed.

Lilly giggled, suddenly turning demure. She played with her fingers for a moment, flushed, before she signed. Roy could tell she'd chosen her words carefully.

Eulalia raised her eyebrows, smirking. She looked at Roy, and said, " _Over the moon_."

Roy couldn't stop a flush rise to his cheeks. _Over the moon_? He couldn't respond to that even if he tried. He adjusted the collar on his shirt, suddenly hot.

"Ah, well. Thank you," he said. It felt pretty lame in comparison to the sweetness of Lilly's comment. "Erm, I have a lot of other girls to meet."

Eulalia spoke, signing Lilly at the same time. "Of course."

He glanced at Lilly. She couldn't meet his eye, still blushing, but a small smile had overcome her. She signed.

" _Thank you_."

"It's been a pleasure."

Lilly and Eulalia stood up, curtsied, and left the room.

Roy didn't even have any words to speak. It wasn't until Rudy revealed himself from the shadow of the curtains and started to replace the tea sets, that Rudy found his voice.

"She… likes me a lot."

"I believe you will have an effect on many of these girls in the same way."

It was humbling. A deaf girl, a little enamoured by Roy. Even when his butt was plastered over the front page of the _Illéan Times_ more than once.

Roy felt his chest inflate with pride. Yeah. He was a hottie, right? Of course he would have admirers. 2.28 million followers on Chirper attested to that, not to mention the millions more on Instagraph.

"Huh. Guess I didn't realise until now."

"Likewise," Rudy said, "there will be some that loathe you. Utterly, and completely. Think you totally incompetent, unworthy, possibly the most idiotic prince ever to set foot—"

"Thanks, Rudy," said Roy, with a laugh.

"You're very welcome," said Rudy. "Ah. Before I forget," he cleared his throat, "the Board is nearly ready. I managed to acquire string and felt as well, for all your pinning needs."

Now that he had met many of the Selected, the Board felt… wrong. Damning the innocent, suspecting the genuine. What about the girls who had admired Roy for so long, like Lilly? Was she automatically suspicious? Her sweet face pinned on the Board next to question marks and random notes of suspicious activity felt like he might as well stake her in the back. The rest of the Selected were the same.

Roy sighed. "Okay."

Rudy frowned. "I know searching for the spy takes the fun out of your Selection. But… I doubt there is another way—"

The doors cracked open. Roy, and Rudy, shot their alarmed glances at the space. Had someone been listening?

A single, slender leg stepped forwards. The highest black heel touched the ground with a tap – almost, in showlike fashion, before the rest of the leg appeared. It was bare, nearly up to the top.

Rudy stepped back. "Oh my."

A length of glittery, diaphanous fabric appeared like a royal blue waterfall, finally falling down the girl's leg. The rest of the body followed, showcasing a glittery dress with a plunging neckline.

Roy couldn't stop blushing, or staring. _Plunging_ was an understatement.

The girl's slender hands stroked the open door, her painted nails long and luscious, and then she rounded her head. Dead straight black hair cut her elbows with lethal sharpness. He was met with eyes like a warm brown – not innocent, by any means. It was the colour of low lights during passionate nights, of melted chocolate on the finger of a lover, of bruises from nibbled skin. It was on fire with lust and desire.

He recognised her. Levinia Lefray. Of _Livin' it with the Lefrays_. A star by name, a star by nature.

"Prince Roy," she purred. It was like the voice of caramel, of passion and flame. It was saccharine, but wanting. Clawing, almost.

She waved her hand at Rudy, not tearing her eyes away. "You may go," she said. "I would like a moment alone with His… _Royal Highness_."

Rudy, somewhat disturbed, flickered his eyes to Roy, waiting for confirmation. Roy gave a weak nod, and Rudy, probably gratefully, whisked himself from the room.

Without Rudy, Roy was alone. Alone, like a mouse to prey – where oddly, the cat seemed to have a thing for the mouse. Even more oddly, Roy found himself pulling between _don't want_ and _really, really want_.

What had he got himself into?

 **=#=#=#=#=#=#=**

 **A/N:** LOL. Writing that last part was a hoot and a half. Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed this installment, and the introduction to the second group of Selected girls! Quite the bunch :P Please let me know how your opinion about the portrayal of your character, and again, length of encounter does not equal likeliness to go further!

So, I have a question for you! I want to make this fanfiction as interactive as possible, and I've seen some other SYOCs writers do this: would you guys like me to hold little 'contests' for you, where if you win, your character wins a date or some special interaction with Roy? Or, something where you vote on the next girl to win a date (just so the chosen field is narrowed, and everyone gets a turn. I think I'm more inclined to this option)? I'm not sure how it would work, given that I write two/ three chapters ahead of publishing them, and I know I couldn't do it with every girl at once, but... it might be fun! Let me know what you think!

I can't thank you all enough for your kindness. Seriously, I say it every time, but I want to repeat it. Thank you. I do really appreciate your excitement! It's very encouraging to me! And, of course, all of your reviews, favourites and follows are appreciated just as much. :D

~ GWA

PS. Instagraph is from thesparklingjewel, and Chirper is from ShadowDude90. :D

 **EDIT** : Just realised I've been calling Alisa Orlov, Alisa _Ortev_ this entire time. My apologies. It has been fixed!


	8. The Selected, Part 3

Roy stood up, feeling blood rush all over his body. God, Levinia Lefray was ridiculously hot. Damn him and his male needs.

"Prince Roy," she purred again, softer this time. As if she didn't already have his full attention.

She pressed against the back of the door, then slunk closer, tiptoeing slowly and tauntingly until she was in right front of Roy. Less than an inch parted between them. In those heels, she was way taller than him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers.

She pushed him onto the sofa. It wasn't gentle, but rough – but before Roy could say anything other than a soft _oh_ , she had straddled him and pressed her lips onto his mouth.

Roy felt flowers grow inside him, rushes of fire wilting them and making them bloom over and over. He couldn't help himself, pulled in by a mirrored need. She wasn't a soft kisser, oh no. This was a burst of hunger, of urgency. Her hands raked through his hair, loosening his ponytail, straggling the strands against their colliding lips. Levinia clawed Roy's with precision and desire, and he wanted to taste more.

Before he could, she broke off, and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Oh," she whispered, "you like that, do you?"

His mind scrambled, Roy couldn't think of a proper response. "Erm," he said stupidly.

She smirked, moving her hands, and pinched Roy's cheeks. "You're quite cute, you know. Did you like that?" she hummed. "I can do more of that, if you like."

He'd never had to ask for something like this in his life. People always just gave it to him. "Yes, please," he whispered.

Levinia laughed. It wasn't without a twinge of coolness, without something to make Roy think she was playing a game. "Oh, Prince Roy. I have much to offer, but I won't play my cards all at once. I show you some of my prowess, and in return, you must share something with me."

She slipped off him. Her warmth dissipated from air. Roy felt his dizziness and dazed state subside slightly.

She knelt to his level, and lifted his chin with one perfect finger. "You'll have to earn it."

Rising to full height, Levinia flicked some of her hair back. Her forehead slicked with make-up and oil.

"Until next time," she said, winking.

Before Roy could respond, Levinia breezed from the room. Roy was left of the ghost of her image, the essence of her tongue teasing his lips.

Now he felt even more hot and bothered.

Rudy popped in seconds later. "Your Highness…?"

It was almost like Rudy was checking to see whether Roy had made it out of that encounter alive or not. To be honest, Roy wasn't sure himself. His hair was a mess, and his body throbbed with churned blood. Lust stirred in his gut, and though it was usually enticed with alcohol, Levinia merely had to whisper to turn him on.

"I'm… wow…" he mumbled.

"You certainly look _wow_ ," said Rudy, shutting the door, and striding over. "I'm sure Lady Levinia has a certain… ahem, _sway_."

Roy wished he'd watched more of the television series she was part of, now. _Livin' it with the Lefrays_. Maybe it would have prepared him for being brutally left hanging when it was just getting good. He moistened his lips, the taste of her kiss still fresh, and leant back in the sofa.

"Oh, yes. Definitely," Roy blurted before he could help himself. He cleared his throat, and tried to grapple for some composure, but Levinia's hot embrace still filled his mind. "Erm, and by that I mean… she's a great kisser."

Rudy's eyes rolled. "She mustn't have thought you _great_ , or else I daresay I would still be waiting outside."

Roy couldn't focus on the jab – Levinia's words, spoken so silkily, burnt into the back of his mind. _I show you some of my prowess, and in return, you share something with me._

He had been so dumbfounded and hazy before, drawn by her endless charm, that he hadn't paid it much mind. But now that he thought really hard about it… that sounded awfully suspicious.

Almost like Levinia was trying to procure information from him.

Roy voiced this to Rudy, and Rudy paused in his attempt to refresh the teapot.

"You're right," he agreed. "That does sound rather suspicious."

It was too late to ask Levinia what she'd meant. And Roy knew he would have to confront her next time, find if there was double-meaning to her words. If she was capable of betraying the crown's secrets. Roy was almost offended that she would think he would tell her things for a kiss.

Then again, that kiss was the best damn kiss he'd ever remembered.

"I'll have to worry about it later," said Roy.

Rudy pulled out a notepad and pen from his suit jacket, and jotted it down. "I have noted it for later," he said. "Would you like me to bring the next Selected? If she doesn't burst in with either choice words or lustful intentions, that is. Perhaps it would be wise to send in the next two, to speed up the pace."

Roy could see himself sitting here all day if he didn't speed it up.

"Good idea," he said.

"As opposed to your many _bad_ ideas, Your Highness."

Roy scoffed, but it wasn't without a playfulness. "Hah. Touché." He grinned. "Let's do this."

Rudy ushered in the next two girls. The first crept inside – Roy could immediately tell she was New Asian, and remembered her from the applications he had sifted over days ago. Yuriko Sato. Her black hair was straight and brittle, and woven into a plait that curled around her head. A thin dress of a pale lavender colour flowed down her slim figure.

Complete opposite to the next girl, who swaggered in with a cool smirk. She, too, had some New Asian roots – but different to Yuriko's New Asian. Her hair was so long, it touched her butt, and her dress was extremely low cut, just cupping her breasts, and shooting out from her waist in raven-coloured fabric. It mixed with her olive skin tone well.

The two girls were short, stood next to the door – Roy didn't notice that as much as their clashing personalities. Yuriko Sato, the girl whose stature was small, but gracious, whereas the second girl almost commanded attention – she swept into a bow.

"Hi, Your Highness," she said. "I have decided to introduce myself with a joke."

Roy laughed before she'd even said anything. "Hit me."

A smirk tugged her lips, and she didn't hesitate to sit opposite Roy and make herself comfortable. "What do you call a prince holding a Selection?"

"I don't know. What _do_ you call a prince holding a Selection?"

The girl grinned. "I don't know. But hi." She winked. "I'm Avianna DeLaurence. And I am very single."

Roy laughed. It was silly, but it worked.

"Nice to meet you, Avianna." He glanced at Yuriko, still hovering awkwardly behind. "You can sit down, too."

Yuriko smiled – it was quaint, and demure – and sat down next to Avianna, who scooted up. She held herself well, despite the quiet aura surrounding her: head high, feet together, hands placed on her delicate lap. Before Roy could say anything, she spoke.

"I am Yuriko Sato, Your Highness. It is an honour to meet you."

He nodded his head. "You, too."

Rudy poured them both tea.

"Thanks!" Avianna piped, beaming at Rudy.

Rudy seemed to take surprise at her words, blinking for a moment, and then nodded awkwardly and shuffled back.

Roy sent a side-glance smirk at Rudy, then locked eyes with the two girls and took a breath. "So, tell me, ladies. What do you do?"

Avianna cleared her throat, puffing out her chest with pride. "I'm a maid, Your Highness. Cleaning. Sweeping. Washing. You name it, I can do it."

Ah, that made sense. No wonder she was so pleasant to Rudy.

"And you?" he asked Yuriko.

She smiled. "I am an acrobat, Your Highness."

Roy couldn't disguise his fascination. "An acrobat? Like… in a circus?"

Avianna's eyes lit. "Wow, that is _beyond_ amazing. What kind of acrobat?"

Yuriko chuckled. It was soft, and never reaching above a whisper. "Thank you. Yes, the circus. I trapeze."

Roy tried to imagine her on the swings, metres high, flipping and somersaulting and vaulting with ease. She was thin, and looked flexible enough to do so. He sort of wanted to see her in action, some time. He'd never had to pleasure of going to the circus.

Avianna brandished her straight teeth in a smirk. "Well. _Now_ I've been shown up."

Roy laughed again, and even Yuriko managed a small laugh. A pair of completely different people.

"Not at all. I'll remember your joke." He winked. "Sorry to cut this short, but I have to meet the other girls, as well."

Yuriko rose to her feet, slow and elegant. "Thank you for your time."

In contrast, Avianna stepped up, and grinned. "There will be more jokes, just warning you!"

"I anticipate them with baited breath," Roy said with a smirk.

The two girls curtsied – Yuriko, for a long time, and Avianna, with bounce and spring, and exited the room. Roy felt more refreshed from the chat, at least, than the encounter with Levinia. They were sweet – the opposite of Levinia, who was sultry, and husky.

Rudy topped the tea up. "May I speak?"

"Don't you always?"

Rudy allowed himself a smirk. "I mean, speak my _opinion_. And my opinion is I quite like Lady Avianna. Her sense of humour is as awful as yours."

"My sense of humour is amazing."

"Yes. Amazingly _awful_."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Touché. Next two girls!"

Rudy brought in the next two girls. The first stepped in with a morsel of grace, and elegance. It was Vanessa Hardy – the first girl who had spoken to Merrick in the Women's Room. Her hair was still stiff with hairspray and kept into a bun, with a straight fringe against her forehead. Her dress capped at the sleeves, poofing out in ballroom style. Funnily enough, she wore flats that reminded Roy of ballet shoes.

The second girl, Roy also recognised. It was the first girl that Gail picked out of the bowls during the actual Selection process. Ferelith Riverly. Her sunlit blonde hair was piled on top of her head.

Vanessa had no trouble walking over – well, more like gliding over – whereas Ferelith froze immediately at the door, her cheeks flushed. Her hands wavered over the hem of her lacey tea dress, as if she was ready to curtsy, but not quite ready yet.

Roy stood up. "Please, come sit."

Vanessa sat down opposite, only smiling crookedly. Sort of awkward, but not really. Ferelith stiffened, and walked woodenly next to her. Her curtsy was jerked.

"N-Nice to meet you," she whispered. "I'm Ferelith Riverly."

Roy had to laugh. She sounded so embarrassed. He sat back down. "Nice to meet you, Ferelith."

She flushed again, unable to meet his eyes, and shuffled next to Vanessa. The red of her cheeks was the darkest colour on her.

Roy turned to Vanessa – if anything, to give Ferelith some respite. "What's your name?"

"Vanessa Hardy," Vanessa replied, short and curt.

"Nice to meet you," Roy said, trying to conjure something to talk about. Both girls seemed shy and quiet, in comparison to Levinia or Avianna. He thought of something random. "Okay. Favourite food. No multiples – just one. Go!"

Vanessa nearly seemed alarmed at the question, plucked from thin air. It didn't deter the sharpness and speed of her answer. "Cheesecake. No doubt about it."

Vanessa turned to Ferelith, and Roy slanted his eyes towards her. She wrung her hands together, lifting her chin to meet someone's – _anyone's_ – eyes. She locked with Roy, and again, her cheeks washed with scarlet.

"Erm…" She hesitated. "Well, I-I like chocolate a lot. It's… a guilty pleasure, really."

"Hey, it's my guilty pleasure too!" Roy piped, hoping to ease her. "My favourite brand is Ghirardiva. You?"

She managed a sweet smile. "Oh, I love that brand!" Then, realising she was smiling, flushed again, and looked at her feet, which had turned inwards. She cleared her throat. "Erm, yes. It's… really nice. I don't have it often. I mostly have Cadshey's…"

The conversation petered out, again. Roy felt a little embarrassed himself. Ghirardiva was a top-class brand of chocolate, so of course he'd had it often. Cadshey's, on the other hand, was less expensive. He'd never really thought too much about the wealth gap between him and his people, until the small things like this made it obvious.

Maybe that was why there was a spy about. Because he had expensive chocolate.

He knew he shouldn't frame it as a joke, even inwardly, to himself, because it was a legitimate reason. The gap between class, between caste. The differences from how he lived from a Seven – heck, even a Two, were monumental. He lived in a palace, whereas some people lived in what could barely be called a house.

Roy shrugged away the thought, which was making him feel more sombre than he wanted, and sipped some tea. "Well, my favourite food in the world is actually carrot cake."

"Carrot cake?" Vanessa questioned.

The ghost of a taste tickled his tongue, and he felt himself sink into his chair. "Yeah, with cream cheese icing. Ahhh. The palace chefs make it the _best_ way." He straightened. "I'll have to have them make you some cheesecake, and chocolate."

Vanessa nodded, with a smile tugging her lips. "That would be amazing."

"Yes," Ferelith chirped. "That would be wonderful. Thank you."

"They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," mused Roy. "Whoever they were hit the nail on the head."

Ferelith managed a giggle. Vanessa straightened in her seat, but smiled awkwardly. And it was quiet, again.

Roy tried to picture one of these girls as the spy. They didn't seem too eager to pry any information from him, not like Levinia – even if they were shy. Roy sighed. "Well, sorry to cut this short. I have to meet more of the Selected."

Ferelith shot up. "Oh, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting!"

Vanessa rose with a smidge more elegance. "Of course. We understand."

Ferelith dipped into a hasty curtsy, and Vanessa pinched the hem of her dress and curtsied with twice the grace Ferelith did. Both left the room quietly – Ferelith, with robotic movements.

Silence followed.

"What a fascinating conversation," said Rudy, changing the tea sets again.

"Hey, in my defence, I was trying," said Roy.

Perhaps they just needed time to adjust. He literally couldn't fathom what it would be like to go from a regular home life to palace, stardom and royalty in one week. Such short time made a huge difference.

"What time is it?"

Rudy glanced at his watch. "Just past three o'clock, Your Highness."

He vaguely recalled that most Selectees before him, including Merrick, had eliminated a bunch of the Selected they felt no connection to within the first few days. Roy wanted to follow that, too. "I want to eliminate some after dinner," he said. "All of their faces are blending together in my mind. Only a few have stuck out so far. Is that normal?"

Rudy hesitated, looking to the ceiling in thought. "I think it would be understandable. You do have to learn thirty-five new faces, with thirty-five new names," he said.

Roy sighed with relief. "Whew. Thank goodness."

Rudy frowned. "Then again, you _have_ had the week to learn them by heart, but instead decided to procrastinate your time by playing basketball with wrapped-up boxer shorts."

"In my defence," Roy felt like he was saying that a lot, "if I can't be king, I can be the underwear basketball field goal champion."

"You missed _every_ shot," said Rudy. " _I_ had to pick them up after you. And _refold_ them."

"… Touché."

Rudy sighed. "Still, I don't think you should be so hard on yourself. The Selection is a tricky process, and the Selected individuals are unique and complex in their own ways. It will take time to learn them all."

Roy nodded. He could agree to that. "All right. Then let's have the next two." He smirked. "Maybe the next girls will appreciate my boxer-short basketball skills."

But the minute that Luna Bellini-Torres and Persephone Cahill stepped into the drawing room, Roy knew very much that neither of them would appreciate his boxer-short basketball skills.

Luna strode in with her head held high. Her dress was a strapless tulle maxi, adorned with stems of gold and blue leaves that caught the light. Her hair was highlighted at the tips, a honey contrast to the brown of her thick waves, and the dark tone of her skin. Still, Roy couldn't mistake her stiff movements, or the glum purse of her lips.

Persephone, on the other hand, was near opposite in looks. Her complexion was fair and freckled – and her hair, a mass of red and ginger. Her blue eyes seemed impossibly bright. Her dress, not unlike Luna's, was a pale blue strapless also adorned with miniature floral designs on the tulle.

Oddly, she limped – there was a bandage wrapped around her left foot.

Roy gulped down a bubble of awkwardness brewing inside him. "Oh, hey. Luna, Persephone." Even his words fell limp.

Luna still managed to purse her lips as she spoke. "Prince Roy."

The last time Roy had seen Luna was, no doubt, a nightclub in Angeles somewhere. He could still see the disappointed regard of her hazel eyes, though he wasn't anywhere near an alcoholic beverage or a dance floor. And he was still wearing his clothes.

He nodded his head. He could still see the thoughts in her head – the images behind her eyes whirring like clockwork. "Nice to see you, Luna."

She sat down. Persephone curtsied awkwardly, bending on her good foot. "Your Highness."

Roy didn't even remember the last time he'd seen Persephone. Their interaction was minimal. Sometimes, they'd see each other in the advisory meetings, but he never talked to her, and she never talked to him. She was just the shadow in the hallways: always there, never acknowledged.

Why on earth had she entered his Selection? Why on earth had either of them entered?

Persephone waddled over on her odd foot, and sat next to Luna.

Roy took the moment to joke. "I actually remember your names. That's a start."

Luna didn't seem to find this funny, and tensed. "Aren't you supposed to have learnt all of the Selected's names?"

"Emphasis on _supposed to_ ," said Roy.

This seemed to bite at Luna more, and she crossed her arms. Sensing awkwardness, he jerked his head at Persephone's bandaged foot. "What happened?"

"Oh," she mumbled. "I fell out a tree a day before the applications were due. This is the result."

"Why were you climbing a tree?"

Persephone frowned, and responded sharply. "I wanted to see the sunset. That's all."

Sensitive subject? Roy didn't know. A lump of awkwardness swallowed him.

"Okay," he said, releasing a breath. "Why did you two enter?"

That seemed to poke the lion. Luna scowled, crossing her legs to match her arms and staring intensely to the side. Persephone, meanwhile, grimaced.

Luna went first. "I didn't want to enter. My mother entered for me. I only found out when my face popped up on screen."

Oh. That was awkward. She didn't even want to be here. "Well, I can eliminate you now, if you want?"

"Hold on now," Luna jumped in. "I want some control over my life. And you eliminating me now would ruin that. So… no, thank you. We'll see how it goes."

Roy found the reason strange. She wanted control over her life? Didn't she already have that? She was a top-paid actress!

He leant back, and tapped his fingers together. He didn't hate Luna, and she was pretty… so maybe he would refrain from removing her for now. "Obviously my hotness keeps you tethered to my Selection."

"Obviously you haven't looked in the mirror for a long time," Luna shot back. He knew she was only joking, but there was still a sharpness in her.

Persephone smothered a laugh. "As for me, well…" She tilted her head, and grinned. "I have my own reasons."

"I'm hot?"

Her eyebrows dipped. "No."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No."

Dang. Cold. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Persephone sighed. "I just… want to see what life is like _not_ being an advisor-in-training. That's all." She smirked. "You're a bit full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Hey." Roy waggled a finger. "I am a young man who feels confident in his own skin. I know when I'm good-looking and when I'm not." He pouted. "And I have a six-pack."

"It's not drawn-on?" said Persephone. "That's what all the tabloids say."

Roy pouted. "It's not drawn on."

Luna placed a finger to her lips, and frowned. "At parties, you were always shirtless, but I always thought the shadows on your chest were a bit too… _deep_ to be real."

"It is _not_ drawn on!"

Persephone laughed this time – even Luna cracked an amused smirk. Roy could feel the embarrassment colouring his cheeks with fire.

He crossed his arms and blew out a sigh. "You girls are meanies."

"You could just prove it to us, Your Highness," said Persephone, with a charming smile. "End all the discussions and tabloid rumours."

The idea of unbuttoning his shirt at that moment, with two girls who were practically strangers, rushed blood to his cheeks. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't waddle around _everywhere_ shirtless. I need to have a few drinks knocked back." He tried to cover his blush with a smirk. "I would blind you with the sheer hotness, anyway."

Persephone smile snagged at the corner. "You mean like how hot your cheeks are right now?" She giggled, and Luna snickered. Even Rudy managed a controlled snort.

Damn Merrick genes. Why did Roy have to inherit the ability to blush for Illéa from his father?

He stuck out his tongue, swiped his teacup and downed the rest of the cup. Rudy stepped forwards and refilled his cup.

"Ah, Rudy, is it?" said Persephone. "How are you?"

Rudy waited beats, then smiled. "It is. I am very well, my lady. Or," he slanted his gaze to blushing Roy, "as well as one can be in his service."

They laughed again. It was like they had been friends forever, not strangers until today.

"You're all mean," Roy muttered, but there was a smile on his lips that he couldn't wipe away. He sipped his chamomile once more, then placed it on the saucer. "And before you guys gang up on me, I think I will have to see the next Selected now."

Luna and Persephone stood up in synchrony, and both curtsied.

"Nice to see you, Prince Roy," said Persephone, with a warm smile.

In contrast, Luna regarded him with something cool. "Yeah."

He stood too, and bowed his head. "Until next time, ladies."

They made their way to the door, whispering to one another, and looking back at Roy. It killed him, not knowing what they were talking about. Persephone whispered something to Luna, and she must have replied, as Persephone snorted. They left in dazzles.

Roy fell back to his seat. Huh. They were better than he expected them to be. He felt somewhat annoyed at himself that he'd never talked to them both properly earlier, when the Selection didn't sit on their shoulders. Maybe they would be cool with underwear basketball.

"How many are left?" he asked, into the silence.

"Four, Your Highness," said Rudy.

Good. Two pairs, and introductions were over. His mashed brain could have a rest.

He nodded. "Then let's have the penultimate two."

Rudy cocked a smirk. "You know what _penultimate_ means?"

Roy crossed his arms and pouted. "Mother read me the dictionary as a child, so yes, I do know what penultimate means. And a whole lot of other _stuff_."

Rudy chuckled, before he slipped outside and back in with two girls in tow. Roy's eyes bulged at the first; he recognised her as Natasha Barron, a model. She was a girl with luscious blonde hair, and eyes like a clear sky. She had a strange smile on her face, like she was halfway between disappointed and intrigued by the prospect of the Selection.

The second girl had wavy auburn hair, with a loose fringe, parting her face in two. It lit her up like a neon sign at night, paired with her bright yellow dress. She pursed her lips into an _o_ shape when she locked eyes with Roy, possibly intrigued by their meet.

Both girls curtsied, then ambled over to sit opposite him.

"Natasha Barron, Your Highness," said the blonde. "It's… good to meet you in person."

 _In person_? "What do you mean?"

She pursed her lips for a second. "Well, we've been to the same parties before. Never talked, though. You…" she hesitated, "you puked on my co-worker's shoes."

Roy gulped down a lump of disdain. "Katrina?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she frowned. "No. Fellow model. Viola, is her name."

He didn't ever remember a Viola – and that was bad enough. If she was anything like Katrina, Roy hoped Viola would stay far, _far_ away from the palace.

"Interesting," said the second girl, tilting her head with a grin. "This isn't the first time you've vomited on someone's shoes?"

Roy sighed. "Apparently not. I don't remember."

The second girl chuckled. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't. Alcohol will lower your inhibitions and dampen your brain's function, therefore lowering your ability to remember—"

Roy cleared his throat. He didn't want a lecture about alcohol. Not that this girl was speaking rudely – in fact, she was very polite. Still, he knew how it worked. That was why he drank in the first place.

"May I ask your name?" he said.

The girl blinked. "Oh! My name's Regina Landowski." She nodded her head. "It's great to meet you, Your Highness. What's your favourite drink?"

Roy blinked. It certainly wasn't the first question he was usually asked. Still, it warmed him to know someone cared, and he grinned. "Jägermeister. Why?"

Regina's eyes glossed over. "Fascinating," she said. "Jägermeister. A very potent herbal liqueur. Strong stuff." She turned to Natasha. "What about you?"

Natasha blanched. "Erm, I don't mind the odd glass of champagne, I suppose…?"

"Classy, but not overdone," mused Regina. She knit her fingers together, and unknit them. "Though, I suppose, with a daughter, you wouldn't want to drink too much to influence her behaviour—"

Roy choked on the air. "You have a _daughter_?" he sputtered.

Natasha, suddenly pale, waved out her hands. "It's not like that, I promise! I adopted!"

Roy was about to eliminate her right then and there (the Selected weren't meant to be non-virgins, let alone mothers!), but he stopped himself – curious. "You _adopted_? Why?"

Natasha's shoulders collapsed at the question, and she stared intensely at the floor. "Amber was my best friend's daughter. Her name was Greer. But, she…" she trailed off, but regained some courage. "She died in a car accident. Left Amber stranded, with no family. I couldn't leave her, so… I adopted her myself."

Silence and wordless streams of conscience stuffed themselves into every nook and cranny of Roy's brain. Suddenly, the room had become tense, and crushing. Even the talkative Regina had fallen into a wisp of quiet.

Natasha had adopted her dead best friend's daughter. If that wasn't a worthy friend, Roy didn't know what was.

"How old are you?" he whispered.

"I'm nearly twenty," she mumbled.

Nineteen. This girl was Roy's age, and already bared the burden of raising a child. He couldn't imagine anything much tougher for someone so young.

Then again, he did have a country to run, and a spy to find. He knew he shouldn't compare tragedies, but in his position, it was hard not to feel some mutual sympathy for her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Natasha sweetened, with a smile that could resound with all generations. "It's okay."

"Life is like a river," said Regina. "It goes on, and we must move along with it." She placed a hand on Natasha's shoulder. "What you did is very brave."

Natasha beamed brighter. "Thank you," she said.

Roy wasn't sure how he could uplift the mood. In fact, after something heavy like that, it was near impossible. He blew out a sigh.

"Well, thank you for your time, ladies. I have a few Selected left that I have to meet before dinner."

Natasha looked exasperated. "Oh, don't think of me as emotional baggage. I'm not," she said proudly. "I'm happy with Amber. I'm not happy with how I came to acquire her, but I'm happy with her. I've… moved on."

Roy wasn't entirely sure about it, but didn't question it. He smiled. "Of course I don't think that," he said. "But I _do_ think that I have to meet the rest of the Selected. So I can rest afterwards."

Regina frowned. "There's only two people left."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Did you _see_ Katrina? I have a mess to sort."

At this, Natasha laughed. "Hah, it's fine. I think dealing with Katrina would be enough to make anyone tired."

The three shared a laugh. Well, now the awkwardness was gone, at least. Both girls rose.

"Thank you for your time, and thank you for understanding," said Natasha. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Regina gave a lopsided grin. "Yes, pleasure to meet you, Prince Roy. You are a fascinating guy, to say the least."

Roy stood up, somewhat warmed by their comments. "Thank you. Pleasure to meet you both, as well."

They curtsied, and left the room. Talking in hushed whispers. Even when the doors closed, he could still hear Natasha and Regina conversing with one another.

Rudy cleaned the tea sets. "That was… interesting."

It certainly was. He wasn't sure what to make of the new development with Natasha. If they became a _thing_ , he'd have to adopt the child, too. He wasn't sure the rules of the monarchy could allow such a thing, even if it was a sweet gesture.

A flash of images popped into Roy's mind. If he died, if Ji-Yu and Merrick and everyone he cared about died – but Gail survived, who would take her in?

What if the spy did something like that? Left him without a mother, or a father… or a sister?

The thought made him way too sombre.

He fell back into his seat, and took a long, laborious sip of his tea. Pushing the thoughts out of his head, he returned to the present day of his Selection.

"Man, that was intense," said Roy. "I need to lighten up. Tell me a joke, Rudy."

"You," Rudy replied without hesitation.

Roy oppressed a laugh. "Hahah, very funny."

"But you have lightened up, yes?"

He was right. Roy did feel a little better.

"Gee, I hope the next two girls are a bit more…" Roy searched for the right word. " _Upbeat_."

Roy had to ask.

The next girl swaggered inside, with confidence to her step. She was dressed from head to toe, not an inch of flesh revealed save her face, brandishing a cocked smile. The top half of her garment and her headscarf were embroidered with fine silk flowers, and her sleeves drowned her arms in dramatic fashion. It had caught Roy's eye, no doubt.

The second girl, who followed behind, had far less of the flair than the first, with a quaint smile and demure walk – but still dressed to impress, with a floor length slim gown the colour of milky peaches, woven with lace and beading at the chest.

Roy stood. "Good afternoon, ladies."

The first girl dipped into a dramatic bow, and rose again. Her head just tilted upwards, enough that she was looking down her nose. "Prince Roy. It is _such_ an honour to meet you." She smiled – somewhere between a smirk and a sneer. "My name is Torrence Whitley. I am from Honduragua."

Roy couldn't resist his surprise. _Honduragua_. The place where the spies had originated from.

Not to say that Torrence was the spy, but it was more than likely that her life had been affected by the rebels in some way. He didn't dare ask.

"Pleasure to meet you, Torrence," he said, unsure of what else to say. "Please, sit down." He turned to the other girl, hoping for some respite from the spy on his thoughts. "And you are…?"

The second girl curtsied. "Roxanne Perez, Your Highness," she whispered.

Before Torrence sat down, she turned to Roxanne. "What do you do, if I may ask?"

Roy could most definitely detect something there. Something she wanted to know about Roxanne. Puzzled, he sank into his chair.

Roxanne seemed equally puzzled, blinking a few times to register the question. "I'm a veterinarian…?"

Torrence blew out a sigh… of relief? "Ah. A Three."

She said no more, sitting opposite Roy and flicking her hand to Rudy in beckoning – for him to pour her tea. Roxanne sat nearly at the opposite end of the sofa, fiddling with her hands.

Roy flickered his gaze to Rudy – somehow, Rudy managed to convey a shrug with his eyes – before he refocused his attention on Torrence and Roxanne. He wasn't at all sure what to make of Torrence.

"May I ask," said Roy, "about your choice of dress today, Lady Torrence?"

Torrence seem to perk at this question, sitting straighter (if that was possible), the corner of her lips snatching a brief smile. "I practice Islam, Your Highness," she drawled. "And double as a fashion blogger. My appearance reflects my passion."

"Islamic couture?" Roxanne squeaked.

Torrence barely even looked at her. Her hands folded pointedly on her lap. "Yes. It is my solemn duty to change the fashion industry to include garments of other cultures. New Asian and Islamic are never included. This is a poor representation of society today, and I seek to make them known."

She spoke with such grace and confidence that Roy felt compelled to believe her. And he did. Even the way she sipped her tea had an elegant feel to it. He had an inkling that Ji-Yu would like her, given she was effortlessly graceful and also an icon in New Asian fashion.

"Oh, that's very interesting," mumbled Roxanne, smiling – just a smidge.

Again, Torrence didn't regard her. "Of course. That's why I do it." She cleared her throat. "The palace will provide much inspiration for my blog."

"You're welcome," Roy said, with a grin.

But Torrence moistened her lips, and a spark of something blasé ignited in her brown eyes. She placed the cup back down on the saucer. Then, she smirked. "Mmm. Indeed."

"And Lady Roxanne," said Roy, turning his focus to her. "You're a vet?"

She knit her hands together and nodded. "Yes. Particularly horses, Your Highness."

"You might like the stables, then. Maybe I should show you my horse, Pottery."

Roxanne blew out a giggle. " _Pottery_?"

Rudy had once said his names were woefully uncreative, and Roy definitely caught a glimpse of a smirk rising on his butler's face. "He is literally the colour of pottery," he said. "Hence the name. It's a very pragmatic name."

"Yes, quite," she said, with a smile. "I'd love to work with… him?"

"Him," Roy clarified.

Torrence, meanwhile, pursed her lips, and cleared her throat again.

"Is it a… _dirty_ job, veterinary work?"

Roxanne frowned. "It can be, when necessary."

Torrence sipped her tea, but it couldn't shadow the rising disgust on her face. "I see."

Roy could imagine shivers running down Torrence's spine. She was clearly not about that type of life, then. To get her hands dirty. Then again, fashion was about the opposite of veterinary work. Roxanne shuffled in her seat, her gaze strapped to the floor. Torrence looked at no rush to start a conversation, though her eyes had wondered back to Roy with intrigue.

But Roy was tired. He was done, meeting the Selected. He rose, fixing his suit jacket.

"Thank you, ladies. I think that will be all."

A flash of alarm passed over Roxanne's face, but she didn't say anything – only curtsying and making for the door.

Torrence rose, too, in a slow movement. She curtsied, tugging the hem of her dress. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Prince Roy. I do hope we can talk again soon."

"Of course."

She smirked. There was a flicker of confidence there – not at all like Levinia, but something ready and waiting to grab. She exited behind Roxanne in a trail of sparks.

Roy sank back into his chair.

He was finally done.

He'd never felt relief like this before. Thirty-five girls, and he'd met them all. Forgotten all of their names, for the most part, but endured the hours of small talk and introductions. He hadn't managed to completely embarrass himself, either.

Rudy began to clear away the tea sets. "Relieved?"

"Absolutely," said Roy, falling onto his side on the sofa. The soft, velvety fabric caressed his cheeks. "I'm so tired. I think I'll nap in my second bedroom."

"It's not even dinner time, yet," said Rudy. "What did you think of Lady Torrence and Lady Roxanne?"

Roy thought for moments. "Lady Roxanne is polite, I suppose. I didn't really learn much about her. Lady Torrence…" he trailed off, before regaining words. "You know, I have no idea what to think of her."

"She is a good speaker, if I may say," said Rudy.

"And she's from Honduragua," said Roy.

Rudy didn't respond – only squeezing his lips together in thought. Honduragua – the capital of rebel activity. The land from which the spies were born. That would certainly put Torrence deep into the running for spy. And the way she spoke, the way she cast her eyes over everything with hints of disdain. It was enough for Roy to think she had some problem with him and his home.

Still, as Roxanne spoke, Torrence didn't seem to think of her and her work very highly. A spy would be a person for the people. They couldn't look down on others, when they were trying to help them by usurping the monarchy.

Rudy cleared the tea sets, and Roy watched, drowning in his thoughts. He'd finally met all the girls, and one of them wanted to destroy his throne. The stars had shone, and now he had to scour through a telescope and find the sun ready to explode.

And he had to find the brightest star, too. The potential girlfriend and wife.

It freaked him out that he might have just met the girl he was going to wake up next to every morning, share in-jokes with and passionate nights. Continue the line of Schreaves, as he was meant to do, and rule, with her by his side. Perhaps he would hate them all. Perhaps he would tell them all to leave.

He wanted that, too. But with the spy… he had to keep them around. To play the game.

Roy steeled his nerve. He was going to play against the spy. He was going to win.

He sat and fixed his ponytail, retying it, and thinking of the Board. Only Levinia had said something that really stuck in his mind. Most of the other girls were too busy fussing over themselves and their first impression to drop any game-changing comments. But time would tell.

"Okay," he said, more to himself. "I know who I want to eliminate. Can I borrow your notepad and pen?"

Rudy retrieved them from his pocket, and handed them to him. He could feel the weight of his decision with the ink in the pen, the stroke of his letters. He wrote down names – which, he counted, were ten of the thirty-five.

That was about twenty-eight per cent of the Selected, and it would be the biggest mass elimination he would do throughout the entire competition. He filled himself with the hope that one of these girls, these girls he had felt no connection to, was the spy.

Nodding to himself, he ripped off the sheet, and handed the pad and pen back to Rudy. Rudy stowed them in his jacket.

"Congratulations, Your Highness," he said.

"For doing a mass elimination?"

Rudy smirked. "For doing something smart for a change."

"Hah, hah," said Roy. He stood up, and a thought popped into his head. "Oh. Pick a Selected, Rudy."

Rudy cocked an eyebrow. "I'm _not_ going to eliminate a Selected for you, Your Highness."

Roy waved him off. "No, no. I… need to start getting to know them, don't I? To find the perfect lady for me, _and_ the spy, and the only way to do that…"

"… Is to go on dates," finished Rudy.

Exactly.

Roy still hadn't come to terms with the fact that he would be dating the spy. In fact, the very idea made bile rise up in his stomach. Still, it was unavoidable. He'd have to get to know them all eventually, and who knew – perhaps the spy would reveal herself during such a date.

"Pick a Selected girl. Whichever you like," Roy said, "and after the elimination, I'll ask her to go for a walk in the gardens with me."

Rudy seemed to juggle the idea in his head, before conceding. "Very well. But only this once."

"Only this once."

Rudy tapped his fingers together. There was some serious calculating going through his eyes right now – they flickered from the ceiling, to the floor. "Then, simply because she said _thank you_ to me earlier, I choose Lady Avianna. You seemed to be at ease with her, as well."

Ah. Avianna DeLaurence. Roy cracked a grin, remembering her awful joke. Yeah, she didn't seem so bad. It would be a nice, easy date to start with. Avianna seemed comfortable and open to talk to, anyway.

"Okay. Lady Avianna it is."

"I will prepare a winter coat for you," Rudy said. "It is rather cold outside this evening. Perhaps it would be becoming to advise Lady Avianna of the same. I doubt a cold date is a fun date."

"Will do," said Roy. "Thanks, Rude."

Rudy rolled his eyes. "I've _never_ heard _that_ nickname before." He took a breath. "I will update the Board for you, prepare your clothing for this evening, and ring when dinner is ready. Also, perhaps a guard close-by wouldn't be remiss… given some of the, ahem, _fire_ of the Selected girls."

 _And the spy_.

Roy couldn't joke anymore. "Thanks." He mustered a breath. "Right. I'm going for a nap."

"Nap well."

But Roy knew it would be a sleepless night.

 **=#=#=#=#=#=#=**

 **A/N:** And here is the last batch of the Selected girls! Now, they are all introduced! Woo! I decided to post this chapter early (as the Pinterest peeps will know), as I wanted to continue writing later chapters, but was stuck, because I needed a poll - but I couldn't post a poll, because not all of the Selected characters were introduced yet, lol. It does mean Chapter 9 won't hit shores for over a week, so I keep to my schedule, but I think you have all the Selected girls to chew on now anyway. :P

So here it is, and I hope you enjoyed it! Submitters, what did you think about the portrayal of your character? Everyone else, who is your favourite, if you have one? Let me know! I love hearing your opinions! Also, I've decided to start naming chapters, for lulz. Much more interesting than 'Chapter 8', lol.

The first poll is up at the top of my profile (you need to be on desktop/ using desktop version on mobile to view it)! You'll have until **Saturday evening** ** **(about 7pm - 8pm)** , 18th June 2016, British Summer Time/ UTC+1** to cast your votes. That's 1pm CDT UTC-5 for my Murican/ westward followers, and 2am, Sunday 19th June PHT UTC+8 for my Phillipino/ eastward followers. You may vote for your own character, but you will have **three votes each** , so don't forget to vote for other girls, too (or not, lol)! If there happens to be a tie, I'll choose whichever Selected girl will adhere to my outline more.

Just a shoutout that if you have a Pinterest, come follow _The Selection and the Spy_ boards for pretty visuals, banter, and bonus content (including sneak-peak snippets from future chapters)! _Greenwithawesom_ is my username. :D

All reviews, favourites and follows are whole-heartedly appreciated, as always! Thanks so much for reading! :D

~ GWA


	9. Elimination Determination

Dinner started as a quiet affair, for Roy. He arrived after having a pleasant nap in his bedroom (though, feeling more tired than awake), and entered into the dining hall a smidgen later than everyone else.

The girls were already present, having taken their seats in the U-shape table arrangement. Most of them had changed into evening dresses – long gowns, sparkles and beading. They stood, and curtsied as he entered. He tried to meet the eyes of all of them – though couldn't quite meet the eyes of the girls he was going to eliminate – before joining his family on the tiered bottom of the U-shape table.

Ji-Yu narrowed her eyes when Roy sat down.

"Decide to join us, did you?" she hissed.

"I was having a beauty sleep," he said, with a wry smile. "Have to keep the wrinkles away or I'll look like Dad."

Honesty was _not_ the best policy in this situation. Ji-Yu's eyes churned in storm.

"You were _napping_?" she muttered under her breath.

Merrick chuckled at the joke, besides her, and placed a hand on her lap. "It's all right, honey. He's had a tiring day, with the Selected and all."

 _And with the spy revelation_. It had ruined his thoughts since, made him toss and turn for a good hour before he finally managed to fall into slumber. How could he sleep peacefully knowing that someone in this palace wanted to kill him, rather than marry him?

Ji-Yu seemed to soften, catching Roy's thoughts as if they were being shared in the wind. "Very well, but you must resume your princely duties tomorrow."

Merrick beamed as if he'd won her over. Gail, besides Roy, shook her knife and fork furiously.

"Can I have a Selection?" she asked.

"Peanut," said Ji-Yu, "we said, not until you're older."

Gail frowned, and, despite it all, Roy felt himself smile. "But I'm thirty-two days older!"

"Are you keeping count?" said Merrick, with a chuckle.

Gail nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! I'm marking them on my calendar, _Appa_!"

The three of them chuckled, and the first course was served. Asparagus salad. Roy loathed asparagus, so instead of trying to swallow them, he decided to scan the Selected girls and their potential friendship groups.

He first spotted Torrence Whitley, dressed in the pink headscarf and dress. She didn't appear to be speaking to anyone, despite sitting in the centre of the table, and her cool expression had not whittled. She picked at her salad, only eating the leaves that weren't soaked in balsamic vinegar. Likewise, Cassia Anderson – the author girl – didn't appear to be making much of an effort to talk, either. Though it was different from Torrence. She was just… shy.

Meanwhile, not far off to her right, Maeve Reynolds was chatting bubbly to Delia Colestrist. Of course, Maeve had made plenty of friends – a group of them had leant in closer to listen to whatever she was saying, including Elise Belmont and Regina Landowski. Skye Davenport seemed to be having an intense discussion about something with Roxanne Perez. Lilly Carter and her translator, Eulalia Shields, were signing to each other between admiring the silver cutlery.

When dinner was over (and no more asparagus, thank god), Merrick stood to his feet, and silenced the room by tapping daintily on his champagne glass.

"Now, I don't make toasts too often," he began – Roy could already feel himself sinking into his chair with embarrassment, "but I'm very glad that you're all here. I really hope that you enjoy yourselves, even if you don't win, and that one of you makes my son, Roy, a happy man – and that he makes one of you happy too!"

Through the embarrassment of the well-meant speech, Roy felt a pang of sadness. Merrick wouldn't be saying any of this if he knew about the spy, because one of these girls was going to make Roy extremely _frustrated_ , as well.

Merrick raised his champagne glass, hardly filled. It was stark contrast to Ji-Yu's glass, which seemed to be enough for both of them.

"To Roy!" he chanted.

The room raised their glasses, with varying amounts of champagne. "To Roy!" The girls chorused, with chipper laughs and hearty clinks, toasting each other and sharing excitement.

Roy raised his glass, too, and toasted Ji-Yu, but with much less enthusiasm. The champagne tasted bitter and cold in his mouth. She caught his eye, and they were filled with sympathy. For what he had to do, for what he had to sacrifice to do it.

To put his life and his heart on the line.

Gail raised her glass of orange juice. "Yay!" she squealed.

Roy glanced at her, and a warmth spread through his skin. It would be worth it, in the end.

With the courses over, and the asparagus far, far away, Roy found himself standing up.

"Thank you all for meeting with me this afternoon. It was…" he smirked, " _an experience_."

There were a few giggles. Chiara Romani-Carriedo simply raised her eyebrows in suspicion. Avianna DeLaurence smirked, too, probably reminiscing on her opening break-the-ice joke.

Roy cleared his throat. "Would the following girls please stay with me here, after dinner?" He quietly unfolded his list, flattened it on the table, and read the names. "Ladies Elara Cyr, Jillian Reed, Pauline Lucas, Kirby Prescott, Jane Crofton, Jennifer Rally, Marina Pane, Jenna Randall, Andrea Cole and Hayden Roberts."

The Selected girls exchanged looks with one another. _Worried_ looks. Why would he keep such a large group back on the first day? Roy couldn't hide his nervousness about what was to come. He pulled his lips together, hoping to look neutral, but it probably only drew attention to his nerves.

Suddenly, Jane Crofton stood up. Her chair wailed when it scraped back against the wooden floor, and her squirming face bloated a beet red. "What about that whole speech, about enjoying ourselves?!" she yelled, glaring between Merrick and Roy. "I _just_ got here! I haven't even managed to enjoy dinner, yet!"

Roy felt pinpricks of dread through him. This was the last thing he wanted – someone to stir up trouble, to put the blame on him. He collected his composure. "You're assuming I'm going to eliminate you."

Jane Crofton stomped her foot. "And now you've just _confirmed_ it!"

He bit back his surprise. How could she be so _angry_? He was choosing whom to eliminate, and he couldn't be _nice_ or else the Selection would go nowhere. "And now I'm glad _you_ are amongst them."

Jane Crofton swallowed an indignant gasp. "Well!" she yelped. "It wasn't like I would want to be with an irresponsible brat, either!"

Shock bled through Roy. He'd just been _insulted_ by a Selected.

It was a good thing he wasn't alone, or else he might've just taken it, swallowed the insult reluctantly like the asparagus salad. Ji-Yu threw herself to stand. There was fury, a meteor threatening to destroy. "I will not tolerate such a tone at my table," she muttered. "The prince has asked you to pack your things and leave. So pack your things, and _leave_."

Jane Crofton looked raring to go all day, and insult everyone else at the dining table (including the napkins), but instead, she cried in outrage and stormed out.

Roy could feel his legs shaking. He'd already had the _irresponsible_ lecture from his parents, from the disdainful eyes of the royal court, the whispers from the citizens that he knew were out there – but now he was going to get it from the Selected girls, too?

Did everyone in the room think the same thing? Were they just too polite to say it?

Another girl – Pauline Lucas – spoke up. Tears pooled at her eyelids. "We're being _eliminated_? Ten of us?"

Roy didn't want company around to announce this. He wanted to wait until the safe Selected, and his family, had left the room, so he could send the eliminated on their way and deal with their individual woes then and there.

But this… this was awkward.

Pauline Lucas' tears began to fall in the quiet. To Roy's surprise, Gail stood on the chair, and piped with a toothy grin. "Yep. Bye-bye!"

" _Su-Jin_!" Ji-Yu chided under her breath.

Pauline Lucas burst into tears, and ran from the room, following Jane Crofton to wherever she had gone to take out her anger and sorrow. Probably a wallpaper somewhere. The other girls piled out, seconds behind – with mortified frowns, silent tears, and wild sobbing. It took all of Roy's willpower to stop himself from cowering in a corner behind them. God, that couldn't have been any worse, or any less embarrassing.

The prince who cannot handle anything. The irresponsible prince.

The doors closed again, and Roy found himself embracing the waiting eyes of the rest of the Selected. He grasped for a breath, though his insides felt ready to crumble. "Yep. So… you guys are safe. Congratulations."

Some seemed anxious, but most were trying to recover for the awkwardness. Ambrosia Nichols fiddled with the tablecloth, but there was a smile of relief there. Yuriko Sato looked at everyone else, nodding, as if agreeing with Roy's decision. Her hands clenched together on the table.

He couldn't help but glance Levinia Lefray's way. Instead of the lazy smirk, the lithe grace, the flirtatious gaze, she looked rather humbled, staring at the door where the others had gone.

Roy followed her gaze too. He really, _really_ hoped the spy was amongst that bunch.

Ji-Yu nodded in his peripheral vision. It was the right thing to do, no matter how many people he'd hurt. The rest of the Selected girls, the safe ones, began to file out soon after that.

"Well," Merrick said, somewhat breathless, when the room was emptied of the Selected. "That was… something."

"Nothing like that ever happened in your Selection," Ji-Yu said to him. "You were slightly more… tactful, in your approach."

"You should have seen Lady Katrina earlier. Goodness gracious," Merrick muttered, but Ji-Yu didn't catch it.

Roy clenched his annoyance and groaned. "I was _trying_ to be graceful, Mother," he said. "But that Jane girl…"

"That wasn't becoming of her. What awful behaviour. Not at all worthy of being queen," Ji-Yu remarked, clicking her tongue.

Silence. Roy knew what they were all thinking. It was harsh, but it was _right_.

"Still," Ji-Yu said. "She jumped to the correct conclusion about your forthcoming elimination. Perhaps it would be better, should the need to have a mass removal occur again, that we take a more… subtle approach." She paused. "I hope the papers don't catch her. They might portray you as you callous."

This made Roy feel a fire within him. "She complained about the palace decoration the _whole_ time I was talking to her! How am _I_ the callous one?!"

Merrick frowned. "That may be true, son, but the press will never hear that from Lady Jane, will they? They'll only listen to her point of view, and they will twist it into something big." There was a sadness in him, stirring in his eyes. "But you must grow thick skin, and prove them wrong."

Roy sat back down on his chair. It was hard to prove the media wrong when they were usually right. The party prince. The irresponsible prince. The prince that would make a better lifeguard at a nude beach than ruler of Illéa.

"Right," he said, blowing out a frustrated sigh.

Gail patted his arm. "You can do it!" she chirruped.

Roy felt a spiral of warmth. Of course, Gail always had his back. "Thanks, you rascal." He ruffled her hair, and she giggled. "Oh, that reminds me. I'm going on a date tonight."

Gail brightened, and squealed in her chair. "Who?! Who?!"

"Yes," said Merrick, leaning in with equal excitement. "Who?"

"Lady Avianna DeLaurence." He didn't really feel up for a date, but now it was out there, he had to deliver. "I'm going to ask her now."

Roy could see Merrick jumble through the applications in his head. "Lady Avianna…" His eyes widened. "Oh! The half-Vietnamese girl?"

Roy's shoulders dropped. "She's Vietnamese?"

Ji-Yu's eyes thinned to slits. "It says so on her application." She sighed. "You really _didn't_ try, did you, Jun?"

"I—" Roy thought back to the boxer-short basketball championships. "Okay. I could have tried _harder_ , but—"

Ji-Yu jerked her head to his list, still flattened on the table. "And you needed a _list_ to remember who to eliminate?"

"There's _ten_ of them!"

"Easily manageable, considering you're have meant to have learnt all their faces and names." There was shame in her voice, and she waved him away. "Just go. Enjoy the date."

Roy ground his teeth. He'd made so many mistakes, and he hadn't even thought they _were_ mistakes. He'd only just met the girls!

 _Roy does not make mistakes_.

He vowed to make this date so mind-blowingly awesome that Avianna would immediately run into the Women's Room afterwards and scream about the sheer amazingness that he was.

"Send a photographer to the gardens," he said, determined. "I'm going to prove my worth."

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The guards posted outside of Avianna's door stood to attention when Roy approached them with a march in this step. He'd tried thinking of topics to talk about with Avianna, for their walk that would last for at least fifteen minutes, but found his brain an empty void. Even as he knocked on the door, the winter coat wrapped around him, he hadn't prepared a single word to say.

One of the maids answered. Her eyebrows fountained on her forehead when she opened the door. She hastily curtsied. "Oh, P-Prince Roy!"

"Is Lady Avianna present?"

The maid cleared her throat. "She is. One moment, please."

She shut the door. The voices inside shrieked with excitement.

"Oh my _gosh_ , Avianna, it's Prince Roy!"

Another girl, probably a maid, gasped. "What?! But it's so late! Oh, Avi – he must like you!"

Finally, Avianna's voice lunged into the mix. "Oh my _gosh_ , what?! But I'm not dressed! What should I wear?!"

Roy pushed down a flush, trying to think of anything else except from that image. A part of him was flattered – fuelling the cockiness within him – and the other, humbled. He turned around and waited, their shrieking and freaking endless, until silence crept into the room. The door opened.

Roy turned back around. Avianna DeLaurence had dressed in lace off-shoulder, the front half short and the back half licking the floor with black flames. She was petite, he noticed – not close to reaching his height, and her long brown hair had been styled into a messy bun. She'd even, somehow, achieved a faint make-up effect in the seconds Roy had appeared at the door until now.

It was stunning.

Roy found himself staring, and blushing. Was he looking at the face of his future wife? He tried to stifle the heat on his cheeks with no avail. Damn him, and his Merrick genes!

Avianna found her voice before him, and curtsied. It wasn't without a smirk. "So sorry, Your Highness, for the delay. I was in my pyjamas."

He finally salvaged himself, and smirked. "What if I was in _my_ pyjamas?"

"Then we could have a pillow fights and watch romcoms all evening," she said. "But you're in a coat, so…"

Roy gulped down a bundle of nerves that had collected in his throat. Why was this so hard? It wasn't like any of the girls were going to turn him down.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go for a walk with me? In the gardens?"

The idea seemed to make her flush. "Of course. I'd love that."

Spindles of anticipation blast through Roy's nerves. "There will be a photographer to take a few snaps, but they won't be around forever. And my butler informs me that it's chilly outside, so you should bring a coat."

Avianna smirked. "Not going to offer me yours?"

"I could, but then my toes would be cold."

Avianna put a hand to her forehead, and tilted dramatically. "The crown prince's toes are cold! Call the guards! Usher the maids! Run him a warm bath immediately! Wrap him in the warmest of wools! Spoon him hot chocolate at once!"

He pouted. "Hey, I can drink hot chocolate all by myself, thank you!"

Avianna giggled. It was fresh, to hear another's laugh so wild and free.

One of the maids behind her passed her a coat – it was a simple thing, free from adornment, but black and made from sheepskin. It wrapped around Avianna well, and matched the colour of her high heels. Avianna whispered a curt "thank you," with a sweet smile, and her maid melted back into the background.

Roy held out his arm. "Lady Avianna."

She snaked her arm through his. "Just Avianna, Your Highness."

Warmth pooled inside him. "Well, _just Avianna_ , you can call me Roy."

She nodded, amused, as if she liked it. They walked with small talk towards the gardens, and Roy signalled for the guards to let them roam outside. True to Rudy's word, there was never a guard more than a few metres away, watching.

If Avianna DeLaurence was the spy, Roy would be protected. He hoped.

The gardens seemed small from the upstairs balcony, looking over them. But down in the deep of the green grass, freshly cut, and the pruned hedges and sprightly fountains, it was near impossible not to gawk at least once. Lights installed into the ground illuminated the pathways of stone and cobble, matching the stars in the sky.

It was cold, too. Winter was a brunt of wet chills and shivers. Draughts rode through Roy's skin, beneath his coat and suit. He hadn't expected October to be any less cold, though. In fact, he preferred it to sweltering Angeles sun.

The photographer – who, Roy realised with relief, was a different one from the Women's Room – stood to attention and bowed when they appeared.

"Good evening, Your Highness, Lady Avianna," said the photographer. "Rainerd Snaps. I work at the _Illéan Times_ with my sister, Clarity Snaps."

Roy blanched. Who the heck was Clarity Snaps?

"Ah!" Avianna bubbled. "Yes, Clarity! I met her in the Women's Room!"

Ah, the photographer in the Women's Room. The one with all the photos from earlier, before Katrina had dragged him out. Roy had to wonder how those photos had turned out. Surely, she would choose the best, most suitable candid photos to publish.

He could only remember having his picture taken during the _worst_ moments.

Roy couldn't focus on that. "Just tell us where to stand and what to do, Mr Snaps."

Rainerd Snaps ushered both Roy and Avianna to the main fountain – a ginormous round, five-tiered stone piece spraying water outwards like a firework. It overlooked the steps towards the many pathways of the garden, underneath the canopy of trees or the decorated archways. They posed in what Rainerd considered 'candid' positions, where they would just sit and bat their eyelids. Rainerd even encouraged them just to talk, for real authenticity.

Avianna had her legs crossed, sitting on the basin of the fountain. She leant towards Roy, feigning engagement. "So, ahem, _Roy_ ," she began, with a shiver. "Do you come into the gardens often?"

Roy juggled this in his mind. "Eh, not really. I'm more of an inside person." He paused. "You probably already know that, though. From all the parties."

"Oh." She froze, before smirking. "Do you want to take a romantic stroll through the palace wings?"

Roy laughed. "Yeah, and bump into my Mother and Dad? Great idea. Very romantic."

Avianna let out a laugh, too, and he could see her bristle with cold. "Hah! Well, in any case, I would love to look around the palace. It's so… big."

"You're telling me. I've lived there my whole life, and I still forget where the games room is."

She snickered. "The _games_ room?"

"What?"

"Oh, my god. You're so posh." She chuckled. "You have a _games_ room?"

Roy straightened his spine, and grinned wryly. "Oh, yeah. It's right next to the strip poker room."

This time, Avianna doubled forwards, laughing. She clutched her mouth to try to stop. Roy could hear vigorous snaps in front of him, but didn't dare look at Rainerd, for fear he ruin the photos.

Avianna managed to sit straight again, and she winked. "Yeah, well, it's obvious you play strip poker often, isn't it?"

"And I lose."

They both laughed, and the night sky seemed a little brighter to Roy.

"In any case," Roy spoke, "Sashi will probably show you around tomorrow. You're going to have history lessons." He shuddered. "Good luck."

Rainerd slithered into Roy's peripheral vision, snapping his thoughts in half. "Thank you," he said. "I have taken some great photos, Your Highness. I think you'll be pleased."

"Thank you, Rainerd," said Roy. "That will be all."

"Enjoy the date, Your Highness, my lady."

He bowed, and scuttled back towards the palace, gone. The sounds of faraway birds flittered into Roy's ears, and for the first time since he was told about the spy, he felt his aching bones relax against his muscles.

Avianna weaved her arms through Roy again, and he felt the warmth singing through his limbs.

"Sitting still has made me cold," she said. "Sooooo, I propose a game. To warm us up."

He cocked an eyebrow. "A game?"

"Not like the ones you play in the, ahem, _games_ room. No strip poker." She grinned. "I propose… hide-and-seek."

 _Hide-and-seek_?

"You're kidding."

She jumped up, leaving Roy cold, and crossed her arms. A cocky sneer stole her innocent smile. "Why? Know you'll lose?"

Hah! Roy wanted to laugh at her. He may forget where the games room was occasionally, but he _did_ know his way around the gardens. He knew the best hiding spots, the best places to leap out and scare people.

His insides froze. _The best places to leap out_.

If Avianna was the spy—

"Well? Is Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave of Illéa" – she mocked a fake gasp – "afraid of _losing_?"

If Avianna was the spy, it was a chance he would have to take. To have a good date, to enjoy himself, he'd have to let his defences drop. He wanted Avianna to have a good date, too. A mind-blowingly _awesome_ date. He would have to endure the paranoia that the spy brought him.

He cast a lazy smirk over her. "I could win circles around you, Avianna."

She clapped her hands together and rubbed them. "Oh, ho hooo. We'll see, Roy." She ground her heels into the pavement. "Count to one hundred!"

"Wait, don't go too far—" but Avianna sprinted off, with surprising speed, down the steps towards the fountain. He pushed down the spiralling worry inside himself, shut his eyes, and began to count.

"One, two, three…"

The trees and hedges rustled around him. This was a perfect opportunity for someone to kill him, for a spy to stake her claim to the prince, that he almost felt an infinite level of _foolish_ for playing the game. He was so vulnerable, outside. Not even the guards' presence gave him confidence.

"Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty…"

The fact that Avianna could be hiding a knife or a gun underneath that sheepskin coat or lacey black dress sent shivers down his spine. All she had to do was get close and stab, or whip out the gun and shoot. He couldn't even fathom that someone as fun-loving as Avianna was the spy, but, then again, he couldn't imagine any of them were, at this point.

Save for one suspicious comment, none of them presented themselves as a threat to the crown.

"Seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven…"

But it was all an act. The spy had to be good at keeping secrets, saving face. They had to be the wasp amongst a group of bees. And Roy had to keep his eyes open, all the time, to spot that difference before it was too late.

"Ninety-nine, one hundred!" Roy looked up, and the view of the pristine gardens enveloped him. "Ready or not, here I come!"

It was quiet, and the guards were as still as the foliage. The noise of the fountain water blended into the ambience of the breeze. There was no telling where she had gone. The last time he had seen her, she had run down the stairs.

So he followed her track, carefully recalling all of the perfect hiding spots in the niche crooks of the front garden. Between the rose bushes, behind the evergreens, around the hedges and in the gazebo. Roy scoured and searched for a thorough ten minutes.

But she was not there. Avianna was not anywhere.

"Okay!" he called. "You win! You're the best hide-and-seek-er I've ever played against. You have bested the crown prince of Illéa. You can come out now!"

She did not reply nor reveal herself. Roy found himself back where he started, with the five tiers of the fountain erect from the ground and nearly twice as tall as him. The water continued to rush up and out in a monotonous routine.

He grounded his teeth together. Maybe she _was_ the spy. Waiting for the chance to strike when he wasn't expecting it.

He turned to the guards. His last resort.

"Have you seen Lady Avi—"

"BOO!"

Roy screamed, flinging himself away. His heart lurched into his throat, and nearly stumbled down the steps. He managed to regain balance before he staggered to doom, using a nearby bench as support.

Avianna rounded from behind him, howling with laughter. Her high heels had been peeled off her small feet, and dangled in the hand not covering her mouth. She pointed them lazily at him, gasping for breath between fits of giggles.

"Oh my god! You should have seen your _face_!" she hooted. "You looked _terrified_!"

He _was_ terrified. He'd thought Avianna might _kill_ him.

In any other situation, Roy would have found it hilarious. He would have cackled, tried to get immediate revenge. He probably would have joined in. This spy was ruining everything.

He captured some amusement from her and laughed too, in relief. "You scared the daylights out of me."

"I know! Oh my god, your _face_!" She leant on the basin of the fountain and wheezed. "I will never forget it. God, that was hilarious."

If she was the spy, surely she would have taken the opportunity to use it, somehow? Doubt cast itself over Roy. It was way more likely that Avianna was _not_ than the spy, than was. He knew he shouldn't worry so much.

But it was still possible.

For now, Avianna had not taken the opportunity to stab him. For now, he was all right. He pried amusement from deep within himself – still present, always present – and smirked. "Yeah, fine, you got me good. Where were you hiding?"

"I ran down the steps, took my heels off" – she jingled them for effect – "then ran around and back up the side staircase, and waited by the fountain. You didn't suspect a thing!"

"Huh. Good. Very clever," Roy admitted. He had been totally stumped. "But you know this means I'll have to avenge my pride, right?"

She tilted her head, and simpered. "You can try, Roy. You can try. I'm a master prankster."

"I'm a _royal_ prankster," he countered. "And I have Gail."

"Well, then." She drew herself up. "You'll just have to go on another date with me so you can get your revenge."

Words sucked away from his tongue. Had _she_ just asked _him_ out?

The Merrick Genes bled a fresh blush onto his cheeks, and inwardly, he cursed his Schreave DNA. Avianna giggled – he must have lit up like a Christmas tree.

"You're pretty funny, Roy," she said.

Roy knew he could never recover. "You, too," he said lamely.

She laughed again, and offered her arm. "I'm not cold anymore, but I suppose you have a curfew to meet?"

Blush still furious, Roy took her arm. "Psssh," he said, trying to salvage some humour. "I don't have a curfew. I'm the crown prince. Sometimes – don't tell anyone," he feigned pride, "I put milk in before my cereal."

Avianna obliged him with a gasp. "What treachery!"

"What a _badass_ , you mean," Roy replied.

And they laughed all the way through the myriad of hallways and corridors to her room. Avianna curtsied outside her door, and smiled brightly. There were stars in her eyes.

"I had a great time tonight," she said.

Warmth filled Roy.

"Was is mind-blowingly awesome?"

Avianna cocked an eyebrow. "Mind-blowingly… awesome?"

Roy realised how stupid he'd sounded. "Never mind." She said she'd had a 'great' time. That was pretty much _mind-blowingly awesome_ , right?

She suddenly fell demure, staring elsewhere, circling her toes on the carpet. "My offer still stands."

The date. It was looking good. He found it easy to talk to Avianna. "We'll see."

She met his gaze, and smiled. Roy absorbed the olive tone of her cheeks, to match the brooding colour of her eyes. She was pretty, Avianna. He couldn't deny it if he wanted to.

Inside, he chided himself. _Don't get attached_. _It might all be a farce_.

"Goodnight, Roy."

"Sleep tight, Avianna."

She closed the door.

"Well?!" screamed the maid from inside Avianna's bedroom, the one that answered the door earlier.

"How was it?!" yelled another. "Is he a dream boat?! Does he really have a six pack, or is it drawn on?!"

Roy huffed. "It's _real_ , I swear!"

Dead silence followed.

He couldn't help but chuckle. Without waiting for a reply (or, daresay, an apology), Roy sought down the corridor, through several different wings, towards his own bedroom.

He'd had fun tonight, no doubt. It was a short date, and they only played one game of hide-and-seek, but he'd still had a laugh. Much of the date he hadn't spent with Avianna, and instead spent searching for her, which was probably the only downfall.

Oh, and the paranoia about her being the spy.

He felt the fun suck from his veins. God, this stupid spy was stamping on everything, wasn't she?

He appeared his bedroom, just ready to sleep again. The soft covers on his four-poster bed had been changed from a muted grey to a bold blue, and Rudy hovered over the bedside table, sweeping with a duster.

He bowed. "Your Highness. How was your date with Lady Avianna?"

Roy peeled off the coat and threw it over the blue chaise lounge in the corner. "It was pretty good. I had fun. Oh," he paused, "except for the fact that I couldn't help but feel like she was going to _murder_ me the whole way through."

Rudy eyed the discarded coat with disapproval, before continuing to dust the unused alarm clock, and photo frames. "Did she say anything suspicious?"

Roy's shoulders fell. "Well, no, but… I guess I can't look at any of these girls normally anymore, knowing that one of them is a spy."

Rudy stilled his sweeping hands, and pressed his lips together for a moment. "Yes, I suppose, after information like that, there isn't much one can do to change perspective." He froze. "Don't let it get to you, though. There is only one spy, and now twenty-five girls who could be your potential wife – and there's still a chance that the spy is already gone. Don't waste the opportunity being afraid."

Being afraid to get _attached_.

Roy hadn't wanted to get to know the Selected girls before Ji-Yu banged the gavel. He'd wanted his freedom, to party, to explore his options. The spy had complicated things – he'd thought now he'd _have_ to get to know the Selected really well. In contrast, the spy was only driving him further away.

"You're right."

"Of course," said Rudy.

Roy rubbed his temples. "But, god, knowing about the lame spy is really putting a damper on my mood."

"I can see that," Rudy replied. "If Her Majesty's source returns with a negative, then there is still time to expose the spy. It's early days."

It was. Roy knew it. He knew he shouldn't be so worked up about it, but it was _stressing_.

"Right, yeah."

Rudy gestured to Roy's bathroom door. "The Board is complete."

It was the best news he'd heard all day. Roy dashed into the bathroom with renewed anticipation. Indeed, on the very spot on the wall Roy had scouted was a giant corkboard with an ebony frame. Thirty-five pictures had been pinned in rows, with small notes attached to each picture stating name, age, caste, province and profession. Ten of the pictures had big felt _X_ s pasted on top, and, next to Levinia's profile, was a scrap of paper with suspicious quote she had said.

 _I show you some of my prowess, and in return, you must share something with me._

The only lead. For now.

A oriental-style divider had been haphazardly placed away from the wall, as well as an ebony table. String, felt, scissors, tape, and a box of multi-coloured pins had been organised on top. Roy felt like he was in pin-board heaven.

He picked through the pins, and stroked the felt. Rudy had even cut out another twenty-four _X_ s for Roy to stick onto the faces of the eliminated when necessary.

"Wow, Rudy. This is great," he said, his mood lifted.

Rudy appeared in the doorway. He looked immensely pleased with himself. "Thank you, Your Highness. I do try."

Roy absorbed the faces and notes on the Board. The remaining Selected girls, the notes. The single quote from Levinia. Perhaps they wouldn't be able to fill it at all? Or perhaps they would need a bigger frame?

He sucked in a breath. "Twenty-five left."

"Indeed."

He tensed his shoulders. "If the spy wasn't in that last ten…"

"Then we shall make good use of the Board."

Roy spun on his heels to face Rudy, the gravity of the situation spilling over him. "And if the spy makes it to my Elite…"

The solemnness grasped Rudy, too, and he didn't answer. But Roy didn't need him to; he already knew what would happen from his mother.

 _I must break your heart_.

And he didn't like his chances.

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 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the chapter everyone! It's nice to finally move on from introductions, lol. I haven't been working much on this (it's been a wild past two days, and I finally reached the exciting part of my novel lol), but the next two chapters are lined up so it gives me some time to get on it!

All reviews, favourites and follows greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading! :D

~ GWA


	10. Mean Realms

Roy was awoken the next day by an impatient knocking at his door.

He groaned, glancing at his alarm clock. It was just past nine in the morning. He hadn't slept in, nor partied last night – and his brain had to jump to _what have I done now_?

"Nnwhat?" he mumbled.

The door swung open. Ji-Yu traipsed in, wearing a muted grey _hanbok_ and pale lace gloves. Paper scrunched in her hand.

Oh, god. It was a _newspaper_.

Rudy ambled inside behind her, shut the door, and began preparations to wake Roy up as if he'd agreed to this form of dawn torture.

"Déjà vu, Mother?" he muttered.

Ji-Yu sighed. "Not in the mood for games, Jun. Would you like the bad news, or the worse news?"

 _Great_. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, feeling his bedside table for a hairband to throw up his messy hair with. "Either. They'll both suck astronomically, I presume?"

" _Astronomically_ is not a strong enough word," Ji-Yu said. There was bitterness in her. "I'll start with the worst. My source has returned to me. The spy…" she trailed off. "They're still here. Amongst the Selected."

Roy could feel the bones within him shake, and the joints holding together his limbs close to shattering. Rolls of illness purged his sleepiness, and his hands froze.

The spy. He hadn't eliminated her. She was _still_ here. What were the chances?

He dragged a hand down his face. So, he wasn't safe, after all. And neither was anyone else in the palace. He didn't even know how to respond. Swear words were too soft to describe this moment.

He pulled his hair into a knot. "We know this for sure?"

"For sure," Ji-Yu whispered.

Trepidation bled in him. Why couldn't he have a regular Selection like Merrick did, where the girls were innocent of crimes and just wanting to flirt? Why him? What could life possibly want out of brutalising Roy in a slow and unending game of cat-and-mouse?

"I'm sorry," Ji-Yu said tenderly, as if that would help him feel better. "I will do anything to help you, son."

"I know," was all he could reply with, his mind hollow.

Rudy shifted, making himself known. "We have a lead on one of the Selected girls, Your Majesty. We just hope to encourage more… _getting to know_ before pursuing."

Yes. Levinia Lefray. He still didn't know what to make about that.

Ji-Yu nodded. She was back into _serious-ruler_ mode. "I see. You will update me with anything you find. I can make some of my own investigations, too. The Women's Room is ripe with… discussion."

She said this with a wince on her face. Roy imagined she remembered times from Merrick's Selection, when she herself was involved in such similar 'discussion'. He didn't even know what the girls could talk about all the time. Smalltalk? Their old lives? Him?

"Of course," said Rudy.

"What was the other piece of news you wanted to tell me?" Roy prompted.

Ji-Yu captured her breath, and showed him the newspaper in her hands. "I know you have the spy to worry about, but… goodness gracious, Jun, were you serious about scaring the Selected away yourself?"

Roy dragged himself into a sitting position, snatching the newspaper from Ji-Yu. Yes, it was the _Illéan Times_ , with an article written by Clarity Snaps. _PRINCE ROY'S SELECTION DRAGS_ was the heading in dramatic, bold letters.

And there he was; his black-and-white image was clearly distressed, as he was being yanked out by ear of the Women's Room, by Katrina. She, curse everything, was looking towards the doors. Her unmistakeable bow hairstyle was obscured with Roy's face, which nearly stole half of the picture.

He wanted to rip the newspaper into tiny shreds. At least that mirrored his frustration about it all.

"Why didn't you tell me Katrina paid a visit?" Ji-Yu said.

"Because Katrina is the soggiest loaf to ever grace the bakery," groaned Roy.

Rudy smirked. Ji-Yu did not.

"Don't make jokes about her. She is only one of _many_ indiscretions, it seems."

She flipped to page three. The article continued from the front page, the blocks of text bending out of way for more photos that portrayed the first day in the Women's Room: Maeve kissing his loafers, Roy's grimace at Skye's closeness, Ambrosia close to tears. Then, the worst of all, short Roy and tall Sherlock, with her fantastically curly hair slapping him the face.

He stared hard at the pictures, hoping they would mould into something more presentable. They remained static, a testament to his ability to attract disaster wherever he went.

He waved it away, but Ji-Yu suspended it in front of him like hypnotic instrument, hoping to mesmerise him into doing something right.

"Clarity Snaps took photos at the _worst_ moments," he said. "It was actually a pretty good day."

Ji-Yu blew out a frustrated sigh, pinching her cheeks. "Well, these photos don't show it. Neither does this article. This Clarity writes that you insisted on some sort of strange dance off…?"

Roy blanched. The twerk-off. She had _heard_?

He wondered if he had the power to banish Clarity Snaps from the palace.

"Yeah. Long story," he said, hoping the concept of the twerk-off would dissolve into the recesses of Ji-Yu's mind.

Ji-Yu drew the newspaper back to her, flipped the pages, and sighed. "I would be angrier with you, but it appears you do have _some_ redeemable photos and a very sweet article about your date with Lady Avianna last night."

She handed it to him. Another article, titled _AVIANNA: THE FAVOURITE ALREADY?_ and the candid photos of the two of them sitting on the basin of the fountain, laughing hysterically at each other's jokes. It gave him some comfort to know that, at least, these photos didn't turn out so bad.

Ji-Yu clutched the newspaper in her hands, and she raised one eyebrow on her wrinkled forehead. " _Is_ she a favourite? I didn't get to ask how the date was, last night."

Roy was too tired and too concerned about the spy to think about who were his favourites, but he could at least say Avianna wasn't close to being eliminated.

"I had a great date, but I couldn't enjoy it fully because of this stupid spy," he resigned. "She isn't making it easy. I can't stop worrying about her, or what she'll do."

"He is growing _distant_ , Your Majesty," said Rudy, with not a wink of amusement. Roy couldn't even argue against it – it _was_ making him distrustful, and he couldn't stand it.

Ji-Yu squared between them, frowning. "I see," she said. "This is why I didn't want to tell your father."

Because Merrick would react worse. The Schreave genes had ruined them both, it seemed. Still, what else could he do? This was his task, and he had accepted it – along with all of the consequences. If he had to burden the poisonous thoughts of impending death, so be it. Once he got to know all of the remaining Selected, surely, it would be easier to relax around them. Let down his guard around the girls he truly trusted.

"I think I'll be okay," he reassured them. "I'm just jittery, is all. I just have to get my head in the game. I'll find the spy, don't worry."

Ji-Yu's lips melted into a thin line. She wasn't sure she believed him, and he knew it. He wasn't even sure he believed himself.

"Okay," Ji-Yu grunted. "Just… don't work yourself into a frenzy, all right, son?"

Roy smiled humourlessly. "There's no time for frenzies."

She grunted. "In the meantime." Ji-Yu drew herself up. "Please make yourself more presentable around the press. Perhaps start thinking of some sort of televised event we can broadcast. The Selected interviews were a hit, so I don't see how this would be any different."

"I'll try."

She tightened her lips, but said nothing, and whirled gracefully from the bedroom, leaving behind the newspaper for Roy's perusal. As if he wanted to look at that any more than he already had. He dropped onto the bed.

No time for frenzies. No time for mistakes.

"Do I have a mountain of work waiting for me in my office?" Roy asked.

Rudy's frown confirmed his suspicions. "Indeed, you do."

What better way to distract himself from the problem than with boring, tedious work he hated to do?

Roy sat back up and sighed. "Prepare me a bath, Rudy. I need to catch up with work."

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A week past and Roy continued to have minimum interaction with his Selected, too busy failing to avoid the other duties being the crown prince dragged along. Looking back, the date with Avianna was the highlight, even if he could still taste the raw fear blistering him for that ten minutes he'd spent looking for her during the game of hide-and-seek. The ten minutes where he felt like his life was in mortal danger.

It wasn't, but it still haunted him.

He wondered what Merrick would have done, if he had been in the same situation during his Selection. If the worry would coil around his ribcage like a red snake, threatening to snap, or if the fear for his loved ones would make dinner less palpable.

But Merrick didn't even know about the spy's existence, and Roy'd heard his Selection was so smooth and wonderful you could spread it on toast and call it Nutella. Merrick didn't know grating tension like Roy did. The tormenting pressure on his shoulders.

He'd spent most of the week catching up on the monotonous tasks he'd abandoned since the Selected's arrival, and the first mention of the spy. Speaking with old men from province councils on the phone. Filing tax reports. Organising drafts for public initiatives. Going to the daily advisory meeting was the worst – Madam Tremaine did not intend to let him listen idly, insisting that he input his opinion on everything, or evaluate the flaws of Advisor Hobb's plans.

Worse, Eleanor Cahill seemed to have it out for him. Persephone's mother. Her dark skin and nearly black hair was such a clash from Persephone's fair complexion and orange mane that Roy hadn't believed her the first time she said Eleanor was her mother (granted, adoptive mother, but he didn't want to assume). He wanted to avoid going to meetings from now on until forever.

He just wanted a break. And then Katrina Berg, the socialite who had horns growing from her skull, rang his phone.

He bolted upright on his chaise lounge, piles of documents surrounding him, and cringed at the number. Oh, god, he'd forgotten about that stupid _apology_ that'd she'd wanted.

He answered. "What?"

"Prince Fitzroy," she muttered. Even over the phone, he could smell the sneer on her pink lips.

"What?" he repeated, deadpan.

She cleared her throat. "My socialite's club, Midknight, is having a dinner party tomorrow. I have added you, His Majesty King Merrick, _and_ a Selected girl, to the guest list, so that you may join us. That's when you will socialise with my peers, showing that you are _deeply_ ashamed for your actions, and when you will apologise to me and my club."

Dread siphoned off any happiness he had managed to glean from the hell of the week. "Oh, _boy_ , I'm _so_ excited."

"Hmph," Katrina whined. "You'd better make it a good apology. The socialites don't want some weak, flimsy thing written on the teleprompter. And look your best for dinner."

Roy smirked. "I always look handsome, Katrina."

"Aw, is that what you tell yourself in the mirror every day?" she mocked. "Just don't mess this up."

He rolled his eyes. "And you want a Selected girl?"

"Of course," she replied. "Your Selection, my opportunity."

He ground his teeth. "Fine. Who?"

"I don't care," she snapped. "Just make sure she's a… sensible one. Not like that loudmouth Maeve or that clown girl that makes awful jokes. Ugh. I can't even remember her name."

"Sherlock?"

"Whatever," she said. "Don't choose Chiara, either. She was too loud."

 _Be louder_ , he silently pleaded to Chiara. "Anyone else on your blacklist?" he muttered.

"Yes," said Katrina, as if he'd been serious. "Low caste girls are out. They don't bode well for an elite socialite club like Midknight. Don't bring either of those maids, or that chef."

That was Avianna, Elise and Alisa gone, then. He wanted to tell her that technically all the girls were either Threes or Twos now, but he knew Katrina's rigid sense of douchebaggery would never look past their old castes.

"Not that Regina girl," she rattled on. "She kept probing me with questions and then writing my answers down. I didn't like it. No girls who can show me up, either."

Roy wracked his brain. Katrina had pretty much eliminated half of his remaining Selected to bring along. "Anyone _else_?"

"Just choose one of the practical, quiet ones. That's who I want." She paused. "I'm even being so generous as to let _you_ decide!"

Why was he caving to these stupid demands? Maybe he would bring Sherlock to clown around the old, rich women who didn't know what a joke was. Or perhaps Chiara, who could throw burnt pizza and start a food fight (that she had threatened to do to Roy once, too. Luckily, he found it amusing more than anything). Maybe Elise, who could 'accidentally' drop a tray or two on Katrina's head.

Unfortunately, if he didn't do this apology right, Katrina would haunt him for the rest of his miserable life.

He waved his hand at no one. "Fine, fine. I'll… pick one." Whichever poor soul he had to drag to Midknight, he would apologise profusely to later.

He could just imagine her raising her nose. "Good. Make sure to RSVP by tonight, with a name. I need to know." She paused. "That is all."

She hung up before he had the chance to reply. Not that he had anything to add, at least. He tossed his mobile lazily on the bed, and collapsed against his chaise lounge. Now he had to suffer through a pompous dinner, too.

At least he would have Merrick, who always managed to keep it light-hearted. And one of the Selected girls, who was around his age, and could chat to.

But which one?

With Maeve, Sherlock, Chiara, Avianna, Elise, Alisa and Regina gone from the mix, plus the girls who were of low caste prior to the competition, _plus_ the girls Katrina deemed 'too loud' or girls who could 'show her up', Roy had few options. He figured he should pick a Selected he wasn't sure he had much of a connection with, and start there.

The night could end well for her. Or it could end in an elimination.

Deciding he would choose later, he jumped up from his chaise lounge chair. He was meant to be filing through some criminal cases for Ji-Yu. _Screw it_ , he thought. _I need a break_.

He marched down to the Women's Room, and knocked on the door, hoping a short visit with the Selected would refresh him.

"Come in!" It was Gail's voice.

The butler pushed the door open for him. "Announcing the arrival of His Highness, Prince Roy."

Gail was surrounded by a semi-circle of girls. He recognised Alisa Orlov, the sexy accent; Elise Belmont, the fairy tale girl; Ambrosia Nichol, the shy model; Avianna DeLaurence, the only girl he'd gone on a date with; Riley Aldaine, old flame tour manager; and Maeve Reynolds, the friendly giant (he noticed she was wearing a black jumpsuit, this time).

They weren't the only ones in the Women's Room, though. Lilly Carter and Eulalia Shields eagerly signed to one another by the fireplace. Levinia Lefray sipped a coffee alone by her window seat, watching the scene with narrowed eyes. Delia Colestrist and Blair Hunter were sitting in front of two canvases, peering around at Gail and the rest to paint. Regina Landowski was asking Ferelith Riverly hundreds of questions, by the way her mouth animated and the ferocious scribble of her pen. Others, too, just sitting and watching.

Gail had brought her fluffy pink pillows from her room and organised them in a square around her, with her lieutenants outside that. A tiara sparkled on the crest of her forehead. To match, she had a large pink wand with a light-up star, and a pair of flimsy pink tulle wire wings. They glittered when they caught the light.

"Rooooy!" she squealed, running over to him.

He petted her head. "What're you up to, rascal?"

She grabbed the hem of his suit jacket and dragged him over. "Playing!" she chirruped.

"Your Highness," Lanna chided – she was sitting in one of the sofas, watching the scene with serious eyes. "Don't drag your brother, even if he _is_ a drag."

"Gee, thanks, Lanna," he said, with a smirk.

The Selected girls grinned when he approached.

"Hey there, Roy," said Avianna, clearly still pleased she was still here and the only girl to have gone on a date with him. "We're playing… _royal court_."

Roy groaned. "I just left a royal court over an hour ago. It was extraordinarily boring."

Maeve laughed, and it thundered throughout the room. "This one is way more exciting. Way more. We're awesome advisors to Princess Gail."

Gail pouted. "I am Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms!" She pointed her wand at Maeve. "You will be quiet, knave!"

Elise cupped her cheeks. Her eyes were like round saucers, glassy, and filled with stars. "I don't know how anyone can handle her cuteness right now. Seriously. Am I melting?"

Maeve fell to the floor. "My _liege_ ," she muttered, bowing madly. It reminded Roy of the first time he met her – when she kissed his loafers. He couldn't ever forget that.

The rest of the girls followed in a bowing madness, droning _my fairy sparkle princess_ until Gail grinned with conniving satisfaction. Roy couldn't help but laugh. It was all so… comical. Typical Gail.

He watched with saddening gaze. The innocence of this moment. He wished he could capture it in time, bottle it in his memories forever, and never forget.

She pointed her wand at Roy. "You are the bad guy!"

And then it all crumbled inside.

The bad guy. The spy.

He felt like he was watching himself from a double-way mirror. Gail was him, and although he didn't have fairy sparkle princess powers, nor ruled over the Rainbow Realms, he did act like he was blissfully ignorant of everything.

And he knew he had to defeat the spy… however he had to.

"Riley!" Gail yelled. "Launch glitter missile!"

Riley threw herself up. "Of course, my fairy sparkle princess!" She pretended to click a button. Gail suddenly ran free from the pillow fort, grabbing a bag of pink glitter from the nearest coffee table, and approached Roy.

She waited, and he rolled his eyes – kneeling to give her full access.

Gail grinned, and shook the bag of glitter over him. It dribbled onto his suit, tucking into the seams, drowning his pockets, giving him a powder of glinting dandruff in his hair. It would take him two showers to get rid of it all, but at least it would make Gail happy.

Why couldn't _he_ defeat the spy with sparkles and the power of friendship?

Gail blinked for a moment, then fell cross. "Die!"

Roy clawed for some respite from his thoughts. He dropped to the ground, rolled onto his back, and feigned his most dramatic pained face. "Oh no! I have been bested by Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms!" It fell flat, even for him.

Gail towered over him. He couldn't suppress a smile, even though he withered inside.

"Evil Darkness Prince Roy of the Mean Realms has fallen!" she announced, punching her wand into the air. "I win!"

The Selected girls rose, and clapped. "Aw, yeah!" said Maeve.

"Congratulations, Fairy Sparkle Princess of the Rainbow Realms," Ambrosia chirruped, but her eyes were glued to the floor.

"Well done, Princess Gail," chimed Alisa, with a small smile.

Roy swept glitter off himself, and it coloured the carpets with sparkle. He wished he could return to a time where a rip in his cowboy costume was the worst thing in the world.

He stood up, taking a deep breath. "Don't be playing too much, now."

"Roooooy," said Gail. "When are you going on your next date?"

He paled – noticeably, the girls turned silent, too. They'd probably been discussing it before he came in, and Gail happened to overhear. And they probably didn't want him knowing how impatient they were.

Roy didn't dare meet their eyes, smiled, and ruffled her hair. Her tiara lopsided. "Tomorrow, actually." He made sure to announce this, made sure that everyone in the room heard. "But… it's not exactly a date as it is a diabolical scheme thrown together by Queen Katrina of the Underworld." He cupped his cheeks in mock horror. "She's going to try and take over your kingdom, Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms!"

Gail gasped, twirling in her ballet shoes and zooming back towards her makeshift castle. "Prepare glitter missiles and rainbow beams! We have to defend the palace!"

The girls hastily jumped into pretend action. None met Roy's eyes.

"All right, well. I should get back to, er, thinking up my next plan to defeat you, in the Mean Realms." Oddly an appropriate term for the life of a bored prince in the palace. "Have fun, okay?"

He turned to leave, reaching the door, but Lanna quickly stepped up and tapped on his shoulders.

"Roy," she stopped him. Frazzles of grey-brown hair tried to lick the sky in their madness. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said. He managed to say it so convincingly that he almost believed himself. "Work is stressful, is all."

Lanna smiled. Sympathy radiated from her. "I see. Remember, you always have Rudy and me to help you when necessary."

"Helping me and Dad with financial statements for the provinces?"

Lanna wavered, bashful. "All right, you caught me there. I couldn't help with that. But… you seem a little… down."

"Well, I do have that death in the form of dinner, tomorrow."

"Oh. That explains a lot."

He dropped into a whisper, glancing at Gail commanding the rest of the Selected around. "I guess I'm just worried, is all." Not a total lie.

Lanna followed his line of sight, and suppressed a giggle. "Ah. I think I'd be worried, too. But, at the end of the day, I think you'll just know which one is _the_ one. You'll know when you get to know them better, and maybe eliminate a few more, first. Go with your gut."

That wasn't the main thing he worried about, but… Lanna had a point. It wasn't like he hadn't had a million spare moments during his work to visit the Selected, to get to know them. That was the most frightening part of this process: falling for someone, who may decide they didn't like you back. It was equally as intimidating, knowing that they could trap him in a net of drama and lies.

It was probably worse from their perspective. At the end of the day, he would marry his princess. They would leave, heartbroken, always the shadow of the winner.

Roy inhaled a deep breath. He intended to follow Lanna's advice to _go with his gut_. "Thanks. I know."

She petted his shoulders. "Ah, you're so grown up. It makes me proud and sad all at once."

Roy scoffed, but it was jovial. "Look like a man, act like a boy."

Lanna bust out a laugh. "Yes. A boy who doesn't know when to stop _partying_."

Usually, when Roy was like this, he would do just that: party. It took the stress right off his shoulders, made him forget the petty worries and silly scuffles, and brightened his day. He could unleash the wildness within him: dance, drink, chat, chill.

He was still under lockdown from Ji-Yu, though; no guards were allowed to let him outside past night-time. And they certainly wouldn't let him free if he told them he was going to the Salt and Stars nightclub.

He wished he could bring the party to him, for once.

"Thanks," he said. "I'd better go."

She nodded her head. "Of course. Learn to be a fine king, now."

He made to open the door, but froze. "Hey, wait, Lanna."

She whirled around. "Yes?"

He beckoned her closer, and she crept up to him.

"Which girl is your favourite so far?"

An evil pall descended on Lanna. She looked like the witch that lured Hansel and Gretel with a trail of crumbs. "Oh, _my_ favourite is a secret. You have to choose that on your own."

"I was just curious."

"Hah!" she laughed. "More like looking for direction. Go do your work, Roy."

He conceded, sticking out his tongue, and headed back into the hallway.

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When a day elapsed, the sun setting and rising in fell swoops, painting the sky with colours of orange, gold, cobalt and crimson, Roy knew the Midknight dinner party was nigh.

Rudy plucked the last erratic threads from Roy's custom suit. It was a subtle thing, not at all overt as Roy's personality suggested. It was a simple black jacket, tie, and trousers set, with a white shirt to go. Black seemed to be the way to go to convey some sort of sorrowful, weepy apology that he would have to deliver.

To rebel, he chose a pair of brown loafers, hiding a pair of neon green socks. Hah, take _that_ Katrina!

Rudy stood back, stroking his chin. "I think you are nearly done."

" _Yay_ ," Roy whined. "I'm _so_ excited for this dinner, Rudy. Can't you tell by the _bounce_ in my voice?"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "You _did_ bring this on yourself, you know."

Damn him and his stupid arrogance, thinking he could hold more alcohol than he actually could. Damn Katrina, for making his arms and legs jiggle like jelly, and in turn, his stomach.

Rudy adjusted Roy's tie one last time, and handed Roy his bulky long coat. "You are now finished."

Roy slipped it on, feeling the weight of the waterproof fabric on his arms and shoulders. "Great."

There was a knock at the door. "Son?" said Merrick.

He opened before Roy could respond. He, too, was dressed in his most formal business suit and tie, even a waistcoat that sheared ten years from his looks. A shining brooch of a rope knot-tied gleamed on his lapel.

He grinned. "Ah, look at my handsome son!" He clasped Roy's shoulders. "Nice work, Rudy!"

Rudy bowed his head. "Thank you kindly, Your Majesty."

"I was born this way, Dad," Roy said, fanning himself dramatically. "Rudy didn't do squat."

Rudy scoffed. "I'll take back that suit then, Your Highness. And the gel I ran through your hair. The socks I picked out. Even the underwear I had to send to get cleaned—"

Merrick laughed, clasping Roy on the back. "Ah, don't you underestimate Rudy, now. He'll get revenge with his wit!"

Roy rolled his eyes. Rudy without wit was like the earth without a moon.

"What's with the brooch?" he said, jerking his head towards it.

"Oh, this old thing?" Merrick tapped it, laughing. The embedded stones of the rope glimmered. "It's meant to symbolise unity. You know, you and Katrina putting your differences aside for the betterment of both of you."

Even though it was all an act. "Oh."

Merrick smiled. "I know you really don't like her. Daresay… I'm not entirely fond of her myself, but these things must happen." He held his hand to the door. "The car awaits. Is the Selected lady ready?"

"I just have to fetch her."

He nodded. "Wonderful. Let's hope for a nice, smooth dinner tonight."

He hoped Katrina wouldn't show him up in some way. No doubt, she would try.

He also prayed nothing happened here in his absence. No cat fights, no fired advisors… no spies.

Merrick swept himself back into the corridor, and his guard escorted him away, for the waiting car. Roy was just glad Katrina wasn't going with them to the dinner. The car ride would've been extremely awkward.

Rudy clasped his hands together. "Well, enjoy the evening."

Roy laughed. "It'll be a miracle if I find any enjoyment whatsoever. Also, if I return looking pale and ill, assume Katrina has poisoned me."

Rudy drew a tight frown. "Of course. Meanwhile, I have the task of scrubbing your toilet." He smiled evilly. "If _I_ return to you looking pale and ill, assume you have fried my sense of smell."

Roy could only grin stupidly and salute, and he left, feeling at least energetic enough to tackle the dinner. The guard posted outside his bedroom straightened, clutching the holster of his gun tighter.

"Your Highness," he stated. He kept his gaze solidly on the wall space above Roy. "I will be escorting you to the Midknight dinner this evening."

Roy recognised him. The same guard from outside the Women's Room; the one who had awkwardly stood over him when Roy had slid to the floor to rest his weary brain.

"Great. I'll need all the protection I can get." Roy replied, thinking of Katrina and her socialite friends as a band of ravenous gutter pests. "To the Selected wing!"

The guard nodded, and marched ahead. He was a pale bronze colour, in skin, with fantastically green eyes. His jaw had been groomed to a light stubble. In the pressed guard's uniform, and the gun holster, he could easily be some sort of male model. Even Roy could see.

He caught up with the guard. "Were you stationed outside of the Women's Room the other week?" Just in case his memory had failed him.

The guard stiffened. "Yes, sir. That was me."

"Thank you for, er, not shooting Katrina on the spot." He paused. "I would have…"

The guard managed a smile. It was crooked, and awkward. "I do my best, sir."

He'd summoned Rudy and the maids rather promptly, too. Not like the rest of the guards, who had stood still and gawked at the interaction between them both.

"What's your name?"

The guard nearly stopped on the spot. A bead of sweat cried down his cheek. "Officer Durante, sir."

Was Roy making it awkward? He had no idea, though he could definitely sense some sort of uncomfortableness radiating from Durante. "Cool. If all goes well tonight, I'll talk about a raise for you, Officer Durante. I mean, you deserve it, having to survive through two encounters with her. Ugh."

"Oh." Durante blinked, as if still processing the words. "Thank you, sir. I'm humbled."

Roy used his best _puppy dog_ eyes. "But if I _do_ need you to maim Katrina tonight, you will, won't you?"

Instead of laughing, Durante pulled a taut frown. "Whatever you desire, Your Highness."

Not a joker? Okay. Roy could handle that. He embraced the silence and followed all the way down until they reached the wing of the Selected bedrooms. They rounded the corner.

Yuriko Sato was already standing outside her door, her guards nowhere to be seen.

With her palms folded in front of her, and her vacant gaze pinned to the window at the end of the corridor, Yuriko was the picture of serenity. Roy had to commend it – he was more nervous than a turkey on Christmas Eve – but it was precisely the reason he'd chosen her. She was, he'd gathered, polite and graceful, and his fascination over her career as a trapeze artist had probably helped, too. Maybe she could flip around to distract everyone as Roy delivered his deadly speech of apologies.

He hoped her company would at least be enough to pull him through the night.

Yuriko had spared no expense in dressing up for the evening. Her dress was simple, but effortless: a pale blue dripping into tones of indigo, with tiny sparkles etched the hem like stars at night. She had a black shawl around her, too, covering her shoulders. The tassels winked in the light.

She turned, when he approached. Her curtsy was long and courteous.

"Your Highness. Thank you for inviting me this evening," she greeted.

He grinned. "Well, don't be. You saw Katrina in the Women's Room, right?"

She swallowed. "She is… hard to miss, Your Highness."

"Yeah," he said. "Unfortunately, we're going to have to put with her tonight. But all you have to do is smile, make smalltalk, and look pretty" – he winked – "and you already have one of those down."

A very light peach blush mottled her cheeks. It was almost strange, seeing colour, since her skin was near the shade of porcelain. "Thank you kindly," she responded.

Office Durante coughed behind him, in awkward fashion. "My lady, if I may be so bold to ask, where are your guards?"

Roy rounded to look at her. She became quite vacant in expression again.

"I dismissed my guards, sir," she replied. "As I do every day at about this time in the evening."

Roy couldn't hide his shock if he wanted too. His mind jumped to the spy: if they decided to attack, Yuriko would have no protection, no one to act as her shield. She was a Selected, and therefore considered valuable.

"You _dismissed_ them?" he echoed.

Yuriko's lips drew into a quaint frown, and she looked between him and Durante. "Yes, Your Highness, sir."

"You…" Roy said, "you have maids, right?" They were all trained in what to do when there was an imminent threat. They might not be able to shoot a spy stalking down the corridor, but at least they could direct Yuriko to nearest exit and find a safe place to hide her.

Yuriko's frown tightened. "I dismiss my maids, too, Your Highness. Only when night falls."

Alarms blazed in Roy's head. She had _no one_ around!

" _Why_?" he pressed.

She shifted, and her gaze fell to the floor. "I prefer my privacy, Your Highness."

But even to dismiss the guards, who just stood outside her door all night? With a spy about, who knew what damage they could do to Yuriko, unprotected, unguarded? It was plain unacceptable, and unacceptable that both the guards and maids would willingly follow this command at every night.

Unless…

Something needled into his spine, and Roy forced down a shiver.

She preferred her privacy. When not worried about the weighting presence of guards outside the door, Yuriko could be sending messages to the rebels, spilling her log reports for the day, noting worthy weaknesses in patrols, guards, or even the Women's Room itself.

It was the perfect time for a spy to recollect her thoughts.

Roy made a mental note so large he could barely think straight anymore: Yuriko Sato dismisses her guards and maids at night. He would have to put that next to her name on the Board. If she wasn't just enjoying the solitude, but using the time to report to her superiors undisturbed.

The sombre thoughts running rampant in his mind had killed any energy he felt to barge through Katrina's dinner. He could feel the effervescence of his pumping veins slow to a humdrum, and rhythm at the back of his mind, like an ache that would never leave. There would be many other guests at the dinner, which at least gave him the solace to make it through. Just for a few hours.

It was too late to turn back. Roy gulped down his worries, fears, and increasing urge to run, and held out his arm for Yuriko to take.

"Well, let's not waste any more time. Katrina's dinner awaits!"

He'd tried to inject enthusiasm into that, but it just came out sounding pale and cold.

Yuriko must have taken his reluctance because of Katrina herself, and she slowly slipped her arm through his. She was thin and lithe, and to Roy it felt like threading silk through the eye of a needle.

Officer Durante had frowned, but didn't comment on the matter of her guard-less door. "Very well. His Majesty will be waiting."

Roy usually loved having his silly dad around. He was the more agreeable and fun parent. But the downfall, despite his light-heartedness, was that he had no clue about the spy.

And no clue that Roy might be taking her to dinner.

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 **A/N:** Oooooooh schnap! I leave you with this instalment :P Hope you enjoyed it! Next time... the Midknight dinner!

Yes, so, the winner of the poll was Yuriko Sato! It was close between her and another Selected; one vote made the difference! It was a lot of fun having you readers choose, but I don't think I'll do it too often because it wrecks my writing schedule, lol. Alas, I already have the next poll in the works...

I apologise this chapter came so late. It was already written a week ago, but I wanted to polish it. Admittedly, I'm also losing motivation - I think a lot of the readers of this fanfiction have become inactive, and I'm falling in step with them. But, I shall endeavour to conquer that, because authors cannot run on motivation alone. All encouragement is welcome! As are, of course, any reviews, favourites and follows.

I would just like to say, thank you so much for one hundred reviews! I'm honoured, and hope to continue writing exciting chapters for you. Thanks for reading!

~ GWA


	11. Dinner at Midknight

The limo ride to Midknight was mostly a quiet affair. Though Merrick tried his hardest to maintain a conversation, Roy found himself not in the talking mood. The deadly pall of knowing Yuriko could be the spy weighed on him like heavy wool, and he couldn't remove it. He knew it was irrational, and foolish, especially when he had to put on brave face for the dinner tonight, but his mind was rooted in a deep anxiety of the truth.

If Yuriko were the spy, Roy knew, she couldn't do anything drastic. No pulling out knives and guns – there would be too many people about. But, knowing he was taking her to place unguarded by his own security meant a higher potential for possible slip-ups in safety. Perhaps Yuriko had only agreed so she could get message to the rebels.

Officer Durante felt like a steel pole besides Roy. He was staunchly invested into his guard duties, surveying potential threats through the tinted windows of the limo, unresponsive to Merrick's questions. Likewise, the same for Merrick's personal guard, Officer Landon, and Yuriko Sato only spoke with polite shortness whenever there was silence.

Roy glanced at her, strapped in besides him. A glass of champagne bubbled in her hand, but she'd hardly sipped any. Roy wished he had her glass – he could do with double the amount of alcohol to get him through the dinner tonight.

Merrick's frown caught Roy's vision. "Nervous, son? You're usually much more… lively with these events."

Roy slanted to look at him. "It _is_ the doors to Hell that we're about to enter."

Merrick chuckled. "Oh, Roy. It's only a dinner. You have memorised the speech?"

Unfortunately. He nodded.

"I reckon there will be many others there, as well. Katrina will be far, _far_ away from us. I hope." He adjusted his collar. "You can have Officer Durante hover behind you, if necessary."

Oh, Roy would. Officer Durante would be his shield if Katrina decided to test her sharpened claws.

Through Angeles city they twisted, escorted by several other cars with wailing sirens, until they rode far enough to dabble in countryside.

The Midknight plot came into view, cresting a hill overlooking the sea in the far-off distance. It was surrounded by a copse of trees, the actual building shrouded, with wrought iron bars erect as a gate into the entrance road. Death itself could live there, and Roy wouldn't have been surprised whatsoever. A sign, written in fancy calligraphy, read _MIDKNIGHT COUNTRY CLUB._

The evening sun filtered through the trees, as the driver halted at the gate entrance, and spoke in gruff whisper to the intercom at the front. After a few seconds, the gates parted, and the limo plunged into the darkness.

Not for long. Three metres into the road, and lights sprang from the ground, illuminating the trees in haunting, ghostly light. Marrying with the crimson sun on the horizon, and Roy could only think they were entering a ball for ghosts.

They broke through the trees, and up the paved road towards a ginormous white mansion. It wasn't as big or as ornate as the palace, but it still made Roy's eyes pop. Pillars lined the front, great stone soldiers holding up the porch. Windows consuming the sunlight stamped the front, in-between the ivy, which threaded up ivory walls. Topiary gave green life to the porch, potted and neat, next to the hedge spun around the perimeter.

The Midknight building was surrounded by acres of land, stretching so wide it melted into the horizon and beyond. A ginormous swimming pool gaped from the ground – empty, from the winter, but still well-kept and clean.

A car park, to the left of the building, was filled with cars of all shapes in sizes, but mostly the monstrous 4x4s only the richest people could afford. The limo pulled up around the fountain at the front, with a statue of naked Cupid spitting water, before the wait staff on the porch descended the steps and opened the door.

Officer Durante exited first, surveying the area with narrowed eyes. When he was satisfied, he ushered Roy out.

Roy was suddenly thrust into a clamber of flashing light. He didn't see the crowd of paparazzi clawing for a photo on the porch, roped apart with thick, red cords and security officers. They chanted, "Prince Roy! Your Highness! Look this way!"

Of course, he did, winking, which smote them into frenzy. Yuriko stepped out next, and the paparazzi fuelled with even more energy.

"Lady Yuriko! Lady Sato! Please smile!"

Yuriko had steeled, though, and took Roy's waiting arm with not a sliver of interest in them. She held her head high like she'd been trained to be a lady her whole life.

Roy and Yuriko walked a short red carpet into the building, pelted with questions but ignoring them all, and finally the gnashing and yelling of the paparazzi melted behind him.

The pair stood in the lobby. It was styled old, but built new. Roy could see some Victorian architecture woven into the design, with vaulted ceilings, low chandeliers, and defined archways. Even the decoration screamed old, with Rococo carpet, velvet curtains, and elaborate floral wallpaper.

He hated how impressed he was. "Wow. The demon has style," he muttered jokingly to Yuriko.

She smiled, chuckling softly. "It appears so. It is a very beautiful building."

The wait staff directed them onwards, and they passed through two corridors into the dining room.

It boasted the expanse of probably half the house, stretching outwards for lengths. Three-tiered chandeliers glistened from high, flooding the room in crystal light, coalescing with the sunset tones of the dying day. Round tables dotted the parquet flooring, flourishing with tablecloth, silverware, and vases of vibrant flowers. Gilded paintings of old owners of the country club hung from every alcove.

At the end of the dining room was a stage for performances, the proscenium backed by luscious red velvet curtains, with a small podium and microphone. Two giant screens fizzled in the background, showing live pictures of the milling guests inside. Roy knew, that was where he would address the crowds – for which, there was a large crowd. Regulars at the country club, embossed with their finest silks and dressiest suits. Some of the older women even donned feather boas, which Roy thought was the most obvious signal of overflowing wealth. They spoke in hushed whispers, each with glasses of champagne in hand – the waiters and waitresses never let a single flute pass half-empty.

Yuriko sucked in a breath. Even she was gobsmacked.

Roy's evil radar blared, and he crossed his gaze to the other side of the room. The crowds parted for Katrina Berg, which they only might have done because of her outrageously ginormous ball gown. It glowed in soft peach, the bust sparkling with encrusted jewels. Again, wedge heels lifted her to new height, and her hair styled in a bow.

Instead of the usual snide displeasure colouring Katrina's eyes dark, she smiled when she approached. "Your Highness. What an honour it is to see you again."

All lies. This was the front she would assume to make their friendship seem real, genuine.

"Hi," Roy said.

She seemed to twitch at his informality, but didn't comment. She threw her gaze to Yuriko next, who curtsied one-handed.

"Lady Katrina," she greeted.

"Lady Yuriko," Katrina said, with a surprised tone. "How fortunate you are to be able to spend the night with us. I hope you will enjoy the dinner this evening."

"Thank you. I hope the same for you, as well."

"If I may dare separate you for a moment, to speak with Fitzroy alone?"

Yuriko nodded, melting backwards and into the arriving parties. Roy withheld a need to groan. What did Katrina want now?

They moved to a quiet corner at the back. Katrina dropped her façade, and the ugly sneer rose on her glossy lips once more.

"Yuriko Sato?" she said, with warning tone. "I said no girls of low caste."

Of course, she would notice that. Roy ground out a response. "Yuriko _was_ a Five. That's not low."

"It is, when she is the lowest here."

"It _isn't_ ," Roy insisted, "because she is a Three now. And that has to match some of the newbie socialites trying to turn into dragons like you."

He was right, as Katrina drew back and twisted her lips in displeasure. "Fine. But I won't tolerate any misplaced etiquette. She must be perfect."

Yuriko Sato was so polite, people could easily mistake her for the princess, and Roy as a Selected. There was etiquette drilled into her very bones, and Roy could tell from only knowing her for a week. That was why he picked her.

"She'll be fine," he said. "Besides, she was also a trapeze artist. I thought that might bring some excitement to this dull affair."

Katrina's lips parted into a gape, but shut seconds after. "A _circus_ performer? You brought a _circus_ performer to my dinner?!"

He scoffed. "Well, this whole thing is one big performance, anyway."

She ignored him. "You'd better not make her do anything. She must sit there and eat, and make smalltalk." Her eyes bore into him like lasers. "Don't make her show me up."

"Of course," Roy said, using all of his willpower to make his sarcasm not sound sarcastic.

Katrina's hand clenched together, then fell to her sides. Her snide frown flipped for a jovial smile.

"That is all." She bubbled like the champagne. "You and Lady Yuriko will sit next to me, at the Gold table at the front of the hall. His Majesty will be on the Diamond table with the Midknight president."

Horror seized Roy. No. She was _separating_ them?! How could he survive death served as three main courses if Merrick wasn't there to comfort him? Before he could protest, use his authority as prince to move someone for Merrick, Katrina twirled on her heels and glided away. The heavy scent of her musky perfume still lingered, and Roy felt illness crawl through him.

"Are you all right, Your Highness?" Yuriko's voice found him, and he jerked.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just Katrina being… Hurricane Katrina."

Yuriko stared after her with a frown. "Have faith. We can last this dinner. I will sit between you and her, if you would prefer."

Roy nearly threw himself to hug her. "Oh, my god, you would be a lifesaver if you did that."

She brightened. "Of course."

The dinner began to swirl. Roy, with Yuriko behind, picked his way to his seat, at the Gold table – round, and draped in white cotton with golden lace. Sets of silverware had been polished so finely, Roy suspected the ladies could use them as mirrors for their makeup. The napkins were shaped like swans, and vases, also gold, burst with vivid, rainbow roses.

Katrina seemed to appear from nowhere. She gestured to the other guests of the Gold table, and elaborately pushed out the seat next to her.

"Oh, Your Highness! I _insist_."

So much for Yuriko between them. Roy plastered his best smile, and accepted her seat. Yuriko had to pull her own chair our next to Roy. Roy hardly recognises the others at the table – mostly old women, curtained in glitter and sparkle.

He was lucky enough to recognise one familiar face: Vana Tyler, a famous popstar. Riley Aldaine had been her tour manager, before entering his Selection. Her sharp, chestnut eyebrows rose on her flawless face when her eyes locked with Roy, two seats away.

"Oh, Your Highness!" she greeted. "It's lovely to meet you! I'm Vana Tyler!"

Roy knew. His insides melted somewhat – Riley had got him into her music, and damn, she was good. Her voice was like an angelic hymn, blessing his ears with melody and song.

He grinned. "I know! It's great to meet you!"

"You know Riley Aldaine?" she tittered, brandishing teeth so white they could hail a taxi. "She's my tour manager!"

"I know her, too!"

" _Ahem_ ," Katrina cut across. She jerked her head towards the head table. "The President is about to speak."

A portly man rose from his seat at the centre of the only rectangular table at the front of the room and waddled his way onto the stage. A moustache twizzled above his upper lip, curled into two spirals by his fat nose. Once by the podium, the screens behind him flickered to life – zooming unfortunately close to his sweating cheeks.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I am Lord Augustus Teakwood of Angeles, and it is my honour to welcome you all to the Midknight Triannual Gathering Dinner this evening." Augustus' jacket nearly burst with his struggling buttons. "I would like to extend personal welcomes to our high-ranking sponsors, and, of course, to His Majesty, King Merrick" – he gestured to Merrick, just below on the right, who waved heartily – "His Highness, Prince Roy and Lady Yuriko Sato of Fennley."

He then gestured to Roy and Yuriko, and a polite clap rumbled throughout the room. Roy wondered if this was his moment to stand and shine – or stumble and slip – but Augustus drew another wheeze and continued.

"The first course will now be served. Please enjoy yourselves!"

The room clapped, and about fifty waiters and waitresses bustled from the kitchen doors, carrying large silver trays with encrusted silver cloches. When the waitress approached this table, she lifted the cloche – revealing, to Roy's horror, a single steamed asparagus wrapped in a cocoon of pastry. There was a brim of giggles amongst the women at the table, delighting in the bird's dish.

He couldn't help but cringe when the waitress laid the plate in front of him. It was literally a single asparagus. Roy had seen his fair share of meals made for ants, but this was another extreme. And what was it with posh people and asparagus?

Even Yuriko seemed puzzled. He nudged her.

"I could eat everyone's asparagus in this room, and it still wouldn't be enough."

She chuckled softly – unfortunately, Katrina appeared to catch wind of the comment, and she clenched her knife and fork.

"Something wrong, Fitzroy?" she beseeched.

Roy picked at it. "Is there any… butter, or ketchup?"

" _No_ ," she hissed.

"Mustard? Marshmallow? I'll literally take frying pan grease."

She sneered at him. "Just eat it."

Roy endeavoured to eat the asparagus. It tasted like he thought it would – sour, bitter, and clipping at his tongue. The pastry helped to soften the blow, but not by much. For the first time, he was glad it was such a small plate. He couldn't imagine trying to stomach more than one.

Yuriko managed to eat hers easily. Luckily, some conversation began to flow.

"So, Miss Tyler," said one of the older women in a pinched sari. "I hear your tour of Illéa is nearly complete?"

Vana nodded eagerly. Strands from her coiffed hair fell loose, down her dark, slender figure. "Yes! I have one last stop in Angeles, then it is finished! I can finally relax!"

The women laughed. Roy drowned his asparagus in red wine down his throat.

Vana continued. "I've actually been thinking of holding a charity fashion show." She saddened. "I've been researching into some of the poorest districts of the African Union, and it is so frightful how some of them live. Slums! Can you believe it? In our world, people still live in mud huts!"

The women feigned horror. Katrina sucked in a breath of her deepest sympathies (it wasn't much). Sari woman brought a napkin to her eye.

Jeez, was sitting through a dinner going to be this painful? Where these people would fake their generosity and sympathy for lower-class citizens? Roy wondered if this was what brought the spy to revolution.

Vana drank in their emotion, and nodded, crestfallen. "It is awful, isn't it? I think a charity fashion show is a wonderful idea."

Katrina opened her mouth. " _Quite_ awful, Miss Tyler! Luckily, my mother and I's philanthropic work puts money towards helping the poor."

A round of claps washed over the woman. As much as the gesture was sweet, Roy couldn't help but narrow his eyes. Katrina didn't do anything for free. There must have been some boost to her reputation somewhere.

"That's wonderful!" cried Vana.

"Quite!" said Sari.

Women chorused their agreement. Even Roy had to chime in a "Congrats," to appeal. A smile arranged on Katrina's face, so blindingly fake Roy nearly laughed. She drank the praise like a leech sucking blood from a victim.

Before she could dismiss their commendations with a delicate hand, Sari zeroed her eyes on Yuriko – who hadn't spoke a word.

"Do tell, Lady Yuriko Sato of… Fennley, was it? Do you intend to take part in charity work in the midst of His Highness' Selection?"

Roy's smacked grin faltered. The Selected girls _were_ the charity, in a way – especially the girls from lower castes. He gave them compensation for as many weeks as they were in his home, and he had no intention to take a potential spy to any large charitable events other than this (where everyone wore a mask, anyway). Still, why did Sari _have_ to ask? He side-glanced at Yuriko. She'd stiffened to a board, but still managed to retain a morsel of grace.

But before she could answer, Sari laughed. "Oh, goodness me. How narrow. May I ask what caste you are?"

Roy felt his cheeks singe. Oh, god, she was going to just jump in with caste talk? What was _wrong_ with them?

But Yuriko took it in stride. "I am a Three, madam."

Waves of annoyance rolled off Katrina. But Sari seemed to nod, ignorant of her stewing companion.

"I see," she said. Thankfully, she didn't ask about Yuriko's previous caste, or she may have thrown her out. "Do tell, what is your profession?"

The main course was served: a tiny square of roasted lamb, a single roast potato, halfed, and a littering of peas in some sort of green sauce. In the minor distraction, Yuriko glanced at Roy. Searching for approval.

Roy looked at Katrina. With furrowed eyebrows, pursed lips, and flaming glare, the answer _no_ was stamped across her face. To talk about high-flying circus acts was to destroy her reputation.

Roy looked to Yuriko.

"Go for it," he muttered, smirking.

When the waitress placed their dishes and disappeared, Yuriko beamed. "I was a trapeze artist, madam."

A flurry of gasps erupted throughout the table. _A circus performer_ , Roy could imagine them thinking with bewilderment. There was definitely some disapproving nods going around, at Yuriko and Roy. Roy felt his cheeks burns, but drank it in. If they didn't like Yuriko, or his Selection, they could address their concerns face-on.

He managed a smile and sat back. Posh society be damned. He just wanted to get through a dinner with a possible-spy, she-devil, and deadly speech. Why not burn his bridges?

However, Vana was the first to speak. Her eyes sparkled.

"Oh, my goodness! You're a trapeze artist?" She bounced with glee. "Can you roly-poly? Can you cartwheel?"

"Yes," said Yuriko. There was a twinge of excitement bleeding into her own voice, probably from someone at this drab affair, finally, appreciating her flexibility and skill.

Vana sucked in a gasp. "Can you… somersault?!"

"I can. Forwards, and backwards."

A genius idea filled Roy. What better way to annoy Katrina than to have Yuriko perform?

"Why don't you demonstrate for us, Yuriko?" he asked. "If you want."

He felt flames lick Katrina, but didn't dare turn to face her. Yuriko widened her eyes, blinking.

"You… wish for me to somersault? Here, Your Highness?"

"If you can," Roy whispered.

"Oh, yes!" chanted Vana. "That would be amazing! A backwards somersault! Please!" Even Sari seemed mildly intrigued, despite her displeasure.

Yuriko stared at her plate, and Roy hoped it wasn't too much pressure, or too difficult in a floor-length dress. Luckily, she hadn't started her main course, and her sips of champagne had been light. At least somersaulting wouldn't make her puke out a single asparagus. She stood up, found a space between the Gold and Silver table, and leapt.

She rose into the air, her body arcing backwards and her dress curling into a ball. Then, she straightened, landing perfectly on her feet again, her knees bent from momentum. Perhaps from habit, she pushed out her chest and raised her arms.

Claps burst from the Gold table. Vana was particularly eager, her eyes sparkling, and the older women nodded with sway. Roy clapped too, grinning madly. _Surely, spies couldn't somersault, could they_?

Katrina pinched his legs underneath the tablecloth – hard. Her nails dug into his trouser leg, and snips of pain rippled through Roy's skin. Oh, boy, was he so dead after this dinner.

"A-Amazing!" Vana cried. "You must be so fit!"

Yuriko blushed, waving her compliments away. "Thank you, madam."

"Yes, _very fit_ ," Katrina bit out. If she could burst into flames right now, she would. "You made such a _good_ choice for tonight's dinner, _Fitzroy_."

Roy turned, and looped his arm around her shoulders. "Anything for my _friend_."

Fury and rage stirred in her eyes, a furnace overheating, but the smile she portrayed was so sweet it could attract children to her. She laughed heartily, patting Roy on the chest.

"Oh, _you_."

"You must have so many talented girls amongst your Selected, Prince Roy!" Vana said, tearing his thoughts away from annoying Katrina.

He arranged a smile on his face. "Yes. Lady Yuriko is just one example."

"You have models, too?" she questioned, poking her chin with a finger. "Hmm… Natasha Barron, and Ambrosia Nichol?"

Natasha's blonde hair and Ambrosia's shy face popped into his mind for a second. "Yes, they're also part of my Selection."

Vana squealed. "Then I have an exciting preposition for you!"

Roy stilled. He wasn't sure he liked _prepositions_. "My ears are open."

Vana balled her hands, shaking with excitement. "The charity fashion show! What if we held it at… the palace?!"

Excitement dipped into Roy before he could help himself. A fashion show, at the palace? He could imagine the dazzling spotlights circled onto him as he swaggered down the catwalk to a flurry of applause and whoops. This would be an excellent opportunity to let the girls have fun, make money for charity, and, perhaps, eliminate the hassles.

And find the spy, of course.

He nodded, slowly first, then with eagerness. "You know, that sounds like a great idea."

The table clapped at such a gracious decision. Sari, in particular, was bent on clapping the loudest.

"Fantastic!" Vana cried in delight. She nodded her head towards Yuriko. "And of course, you must model, Lady Yuriko!"

Yuriko paled. "Me? Model?"

"Of course! And Natasha Barron and Ambrosia Nichol would be so welcome in the line-up. Some other girls, too. We couldn't have all of them modelling, but a handful would be perfect!" She cupped her cheeks, her bronze eyes dazzling. "Gosh, this will be so much fun!"

Roy wanted to tone her excitement down. "I'll have to check with the palace council, first, but it shouldn't be a problem…" Certainly not with Ji-Yu, who loved fashion more than she let on, nor Merrick, who adored big events.

Then, Katrina cleared her throat. _Oh, she's still here_.

"Would this fashion show be broadcast?" she asked.

Vana laughed. "Yes, and we would have guests! You'd be welcome to watch, Katrina!"

 _To watch_. Ouch. Katrina was clearly not good enough to model. Roy smothered the laugh rising deep in his throat as Katrina's face flushed beet red, and the veins on her forehead throbbed.

Vana turned to the others. "And you'd all be invited, too! We can raise so much money for the poorest districts in the African Union!"

There were nods of agreements, praise, admiration for the idea. Roy sunk in his chair, oddly pleased with how the evening had turned out.

He never intended to annoy Katrina – in fact, he'd just wanted to _not_ rile her as much as possible. But… annoying her was so much _fun_.

With the main course finished, dessert was plated for the guests. Roy's mouth watered – a bread-and-butter pudding, with a healthy ladle of custard. He remembered his British cousins introducing the dessert to him, and he'd never looked back since. The ladies of the Gold table nursed delicate spoonfuls, so Roy, as much as it pained him, copied. Though he very much could eat the whole thing in one go.

"Prince Roy, if I may be so bold," Sari began. "How goes your Selection?"

Roy couldn't fake his answer. "Very well, thank you."

Another woman in a feather boa pinched her nose. "I trust you have put your… ahem, _partying_ behind you?"

Roy felt his cheeks slacken, but he forced a smile, and barked in his most saccharine voice. "Oh, _of course_. Completely behind me. Swept under the rug."

Vana laughed. "I think your partying was all right with me, Your Highness," she said. "Nothing wrong with letting loose once in a while. Why, I'm sure I've been caught in several awkward situations before."

But Vana wasn't royalty. She was a popstar. Scandal was practically expected of her. Still, the comment warmed him like the custard, and he found himself liking Vana Tyler, despite her horrifically narrow-minded crowd of friends.

With dessert over, President Augustus Teakwood struggled to the podium again, raising his glass. The hall quietened, and the screens burst into life with his face hogging both like a bloated balloon.

"I hope you all enjoyed your meals tonight!" He coughed out. "Before we have a special speech from our own Prince Roy, I hope you will join me in toast to our royal guests this evening."

The crowds stood up. Katrina bolted up, back straight, holding her glass with her pinkie finger stuck out.

"To the royal family! Long may they reign!"

"Long may they reign!"

Roy tilted his flute at Yuriko – she, with less enthusiasm, clinked their glasses together. Roy turned to Katrina, whose eyes had narrowed to slits, waiting expectantly. But she toasted and drank heartily.

Then the crowds sat – and Roy placed his glass down. Time for the most embarrassing speech in his life.

He drew in a deep breath, passed the Diamond table, and walked up the dais. At least, with his speech on the Capital Report, he was speaking to a camera, his family, and the members of the royal court – about thirty-odd people. But this was a speech to hundreds of expecting eyes, to the highest snobs of society. Katrina and her socialite friends.

He felt a pressure on his shoulders, finding the podium. He could hear the rapid clicks of the ravenous paparazzi. The irresponsible prince making another apology on his behaviour was sure to feed their eager consciences, and likewise, the papers and magazines they represented.

He adjusted the mic on the podium, and looked at the crowd. Still seated, they waited. Officer Durante had followed Roy up the dais and hovered behind him, too, waiting for his speech to be over, so he could escort Roy back home to safety. Colour fizzled into life behind him as the screens captured each detail and pore on his vacant face.

He quickly glanced at Merrick, who had turned in his seat entirely to watch Roy. He gave a nod and a small thumbs up, and Roy felt some encouragement, at least, to just say it and get it over with. His eyes crossed to Katrina, and she held onto an unpleasant snarl with anticipation.

Roy tore himself from her and looked straight ahead, ignoring the monstrous cameras to his left. _Be cool_ , he thought, _Roy makes no mistakes_. He cleared his throat.

"Good evening, Midknight attendees," he recited, trying to oomph his speech with emotion. "Firstly, I would like to thank President Augustus Teakwood for such wonderful hosting. This dinner has truly been marvellous."

A small round of applause. Roy continued.

"I would also like to extend my thank you to" – he hid the shudder quivering his chest – "Lady Katrina Berg, who was kind enough to invite myself, my father and Lady Yuriko here today."

Another round of polite applause. Roy spotted Katrina blushing and waving away the other guests' praises of her.

Roy swallowed again. All right. Now the tough part. He shucked any image of his nerves and drew breath.

"As you are all aware, the latest example of my behaviour has rocked the nation and shocked the world—"

Suddenly, the lights went out.

At first, confusion grappled Roy. The lights had blown, pitching the room in whorls of darkness and moonlight – but why? Was this part of Katrina's plan to make his speech more dramatic? With what little light from outside that there was, and the occasional flash of a camera lens, Roy squinted his eyes to make better sense of the situation.

But the guests were confused, too. An immediate clamour rose in the room, with questions and accusations flying everywhere.

"Is this another joke of his?"

"What's going on?"

Roy couldn't see Katrina, Yuriko or Merrick, but he doubted they would have a clue as to what was going on either. He tapped the microphone, but it had fallen dead.

Spindles of anticipation attacked Roy. It was one thing for the lights to go, but for all the electricity?

Officer Durante must have had the same thought, as he stepped forwards and pressed Roy's shoulder. "I don't like this, Your Highness."

Light suddenly swirled into the room from behind Roy. The screens, usually sowing a live picture of the event, had fizzled into life. Static shackled the screen in a mixture of colours and pixels – then, it switched.

Roy and the rest of the room stared into the eyes of a man, shrouded in a black cloak, and with his gaunt face covered in black cloth. The room was dark, too, but there was no mistaking the anguished whites of his dark eyes. A symbol marked the tip of his hood - a ten-pointed silver star.

It was close to a symbol Roy had only seen in his textbooks, to learn the history of Illéa. He ground his teeth, foraging his mind for the name – but it evaded him.

He was certain of one thing though. It was a symbol of revolution. A symbol of the unrest in the south of Illéa.

A symbol of those who had sent the spy.

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 **A/N:** Le gasp! What's going to happen? This chapter was so fun to write, lol. Hope you enjoyed it!

I'd like to apologise for the lack of updates. I totally lost motivation, and it was a problem with plotting, but I think it's solved for now. Updates they should be more consistent now.

 **A new poll is on my profile!** Relates to this chapter ;) You have three choices, so please use them! The top three will be chosen. I'll close the poll a week from now, on the 12th August 2016. :D

Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to everyone still reviewing - your feedback makes my day! :D Reviews, favourites, and follows are always appreciated!

~ GWA


	12. Rebel Debut

Roy kept his eyes glued to the screen. The symbol of the spy, woven in silver and gold thread, shone bright and delicate amidst the shadow of the man's face.

Before he even spoke, Roy knew what he wanted.

"Good evening, Midknight attendees," the man on the screen mocked – his voice was an oily, oozing slime. "What a bizarre bunch you are. How on earth could a small dish of one asparagus possibly help to fill you?"

Officer Durante suddenly threw himself in the way, pressing Roy down to a crumpled heap between the podium and him. "Stay down, Your Highness—"

"Oh, relax," said the man with a laugh. "I'm not going hurt him. I don't even have any of my people there to shoot you, though it displeases me greatly to admit that. Midknight's stellar security reputation was not conjured from dirt and dust."

Augustus Teakwood thrust up from his chair at the diamond table. "Stop this broadcast at once!" he ordered to the helpless servants and clueless guards. Some stayed, some disappeared to find help.

"Ah, and here we have what is supposed to be the pinnacle of our country and society, and you waste yourselves away talking about your latest charity endeavours or the most fashionable trophy purchases of the weak."

Augustus swivelled around, beet red. "How dare you! Identify yourself at once!"

The man's smirk couldn't be hidden underneath the cloth. "I am Walter Wolanski. I am the leader of the Southern Rebels."

 _Walter Wolanski_. Already, the name burnt into Roy's mind, branded and scarred on him for eternity. Walter Wolanski, the man who wanted him and his family dead, and to take the throne. Fear gripped Roy, and he shrank against the podium, hoping to curl into its shadow and disappear.

Officer Durante tensed, but didn't let down his guard. He'd whipped out his gun, pointing it down and up stage with the hope to catch some tactless assassin. Roy could only hope Merrick and Yuriko were also protected.

"As you can see," Walter said, "I interrupt your absurd event to bring news to the royal family."

Roy's fingers shook. He wanted to look away, to spare his brain the terror, but his eyes stayed glue to Walter's flickering image, bereft him of living nightmares.

"To King Merrick, and to his hapless son, _Prince Roy_ ," he snarled. "Your authoritarian reign must come to an end. Monarchy is outdated, rigid and unfair. To be born into such high power without having to lift a finger? It disgusts me to the very core."

Walter's eyes seem to bore into everything – and everyone – in the room, before settling on Officer Durante, shielding Roy.

"To think that the next heir to the throne is a misguided teenager dressed as a prince imbues me with despair. That the title of _king_ will be handed to him like giving a child a lollipop. I fear for this generation, and the generations to come." He laughed bitterly. "And although I recognise King Merrick has attempted his best to be fair and just, there can never be true peace until the monarchy dissolves."

Roy felt his insides shattering at the words, harsher, sharper than anything he had ever heard. They bit into him, like fangs ripping off his flesh.

"This message," Walter continued, "is to… _encourage_ His Royal Majesty and his family to surrender the country to the Southern Rebels, so that we may take back our freedom and our homeland, and turn it into something better, more just and more righteous."

Silence smothered the room, stifling the fear and cries of the guests. Roy felt his windpipe scrunch into a choking twist, leaving him speechless and breathless. This man wanted them to just _hand_ over their sovereign, their home, their country to the Southern Rebels. To save them of whatever may happen if they declined. Roy couldn't even think straight – streams of incoherent words slaughtered his rationality.

Then Merrick's voice pierced through the silence.

"How _dare_ you insult my family and threaten my home!" he shouted. "Come out from behind that screen, coward!"

Roy couldn't see him, but he could feel his anger and disgust like a forceful ripple of a tide.

"Oh, the Merry King has some spitfire? How intriguing. You must have learnt that from your wife." Walter laughed. "Nevertheless, I expected as much. This is a warning to you, and there will not be another. Choose your path wisely, King Merrick. And you, Prince Roy." His eyes thinned to slits. "A Selection can never help to hide your true insecurities."

The screen turned black.

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Roy stayed shrivelled against the podium and Officer Durante, and an unspeakable fear clutched him with raking claws. Walter's words rolled around in his head like pinballs trapped in a machine.

 _A Selection can never help to hide your true insecurities._

Roy couldn't stop shaking, and he could feel the food in his stomach churning into bile. He could throw up, a throbbing at the back of his skull, but he nothing came. Fear had swallowed him whole, with no intention of spitting him out.

The lights flickered back on, and the microphone fizzled with static life once more. It filled the hollow silence within Roy, but did nothing to encourage him.

The guests of the dinner burst into commotion – some crying and wailing, some angry and bellowing rude remarks. The remaining security officers scrambled between them, reassuring guests, checking alcoves and mezzanines for potential threats.

Officer Durante came to a wavering stand. He held out a hand to Roy, but didn't look at him – he surveyed the area with fearsome vigilance. Roy took it, coming to a rise, but he felt dizzy and had to steady himself on the podium.

"Roy!"

Merrick bounded up the stage, shoving passed Durante, and threw himself into a hug. Roy felt an instant bubble of safety within Merrick, his familiar smell and gentle touch placated his frenzied nerve ends. He wrapped his arms around his father.

"I-I'm okay," he mumbled into Merrick's chest.

"It's all right, son. It's all right," Merrick cooed. "No one has harmed you. It's all right."

Roy had to disagree. He felt very much _harmed_ – his pride, his safety, crumbling around him like the rusted stone walls of an ancient castle. Still, he held Merrick and arm's length and stared into his green eyes.

"Dad, what the _hell_ was that?" he muttered.

But Merrick's face had all the answers. "I don't know, son. The Southern Rebels… god above, _threatening_ us at an event like this. Despicable." Something ignited in his eyes – a roused flush of anger. "They're gaining traction, and they must be stopped. Making threats against this country is one thing, but making a threat to my _family_ is another."

Officer Durante, who hadn't seem at all affected by Merrick's shove, crowded closer to them. "Sire, Your Highness, we must leave immediately."

At once, Roy remembered his position. "Lady Yuriko! Is she all right?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Officer Landon has seen to her."

Officer Landon, Merrick's guard. Had Merrick abandoned his security to protect her?

Merrick pulled Roy in again. "I'm just glad you're safe, son."

Augustus Teakwood bustled onto the stage. His cheeks, mottled in numerous shades of red, indicated numerous stages of rage. A volcano about to erupt. He tapped the microphone to check that it worked.

"Our guest's safety is top priority!" he spoke gruffly. "We will begin an emergency evacuation of the premises immediately, so that my security team may sweep the area! Please report any suspicious activity to the guards or me at once!"

He clicked the microphone off and approached Roy, Merrick and Durante. Sadness had swept over him in a thick blanket.

"I… I can't apologise enough for the distress this has caused," he said, shaking his head. "The Southern Rebels… absolutely disgusting behaviour. Please know that the Midknight committee will do everything in our power to support your family and your cause."

Merrick nodded, solemn. "Thank you. We will be taking our leave now."

"Of course. Please be safe."

Augustus stepped away.

Officer Durante muttered rapidly into a walkie-talkie. Roy could hear words like _decoy cars_ and _distractions_ spoken, and he had to wonder how much danger he and his father really were.

Yuriko and Katrina stepped onto the proscenium then, tailed by Officer Landon, gun drawn. Katrina looked to have been crying, with black kohl dripping from her eyelids – the first time Roy had ever seen her more shaken with terror than stirred with anger. Yuriko, on the other hand, had a much more controlled worry paling her face, and the excitement of the dinner talk had been stolen completely.

"Your Highness," Yuriko whispered. "Are you… all right?"

She spoke as if the question was foolish, but had to be asked from necessity. And it was true, but it still reassured Roy to hear some form of diplomacy in the wake of a threat.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said.

Katrina stomped her foot. "Damn rebels," she swore, and a tear spilt down her cheek. "They're going to pay for messing with mascara!"

As selfish as it was, Roy still had to smile at Katrina. It was a rare moment where her misplaced anger wanted to make him laugh.

Durante nodded, ushering the group to the left and down the steps. "We must depart now. Quickly."

Durante took the head, and Landon the back of their group, escorted through a maze of hallways in Midknight and out the back entrance. It was barren of paparazzi, which was more than what Roy could ask for. Seven identical limos lined a shrouded stone road, and Roy and co. piled into the fifth.

Then, in mortal silence, the limo drove back to the palace.

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Nobody could quite muster the right words to speak during the limo ride back to the palace. Roy, wedged between his father and Officer Durante, and opposite Katrina and Yuriko, couldn't meet anyone's gaze, nor answer any of Katrina's questions – of which, she had a barrage. The threat to his life had shaken him into quiet, a sound so ill between his ears.

Ji-Yu, Gail, and a hundred more palace guards greeted them in the lobby once they reached the palace. Ji-Yu, shaking but also furious, threw herself into a hug once Roy and Merrick exited the limo.

"Are you both all right?"

Merrick fingers curled against Roy's back, his other hand clasped around Ji-Yu. "Yes, we're both fine, honey. Just shaken, is all."

A sniffle broke them off – Roy felt his heart leaden at the sight of Gail, tears staining her blotchy cheeks, and her eyes puffy and wet.

" _Appa_?" she gurgled. " _Jun_?"

Merrick scooped her up into his arms, and into a fierce hug before she could begin to sob. "It's all right, peanut. Daddy's fine."

Roy and Ji-Yu piled in with them, and for a long moment, Roy could pretend they were just a normal family living in a big house. That Roy wasn't a prince, destined to inherit a throne he didn't feel ready for. That there wasn't some evil lurking in his corridors, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

It couldn't last. Roy broke off and wiped a loose tear from Gail's cheek, brandishing a bright smile. "Don't you worry, Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms. Evil Prince Roy of the Mean Realms stopped the monster before he could do anything."

Gail sniffled, at first, unamused – but her smile stretched. "You are Evil _Darkness_ Prince Roy of the Mean Realms!" she chittered.

Merrick laughed. "What does that make me?"

"Erm…" Gail trailed off, before piping up. "Fluffy Cloud King _Appa_ of Planet Illéa!" She squealed. "And _Appa_ is married to the Bright Tree Forest Queen _Omma_!"

Ji-Yu let out a laugh. "What are you like, peanut?"

Merrick lifted her higher. "Well, Fluffy Cloud King _Appa_ is going to make Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail fly!"

He ran down the corridor making plane noises, Gail squealing and squirming cheerily in his arms. Roy watched them disappear around the corner, flanked by ten guards and advisors who would no doubt bombard Merrick with questions once Gail was gone.

Ji-Yu had returned to her serious face, too. The moment to cherish family had dissolved. She turned to Katrina and Yuriko, who stood behind awkwardly. "Are you two all right?"

Yuriko nodded passively, but Katrina drew up her lip. "Yes, Your Majesty," she chanted, gracing a curtsy. "But if you don't mind me saying, I'm ready to stick it to those rebels good."

Ji-Yu didn't show any amusement. "You and I both, Lady Katrina." She pushed out a sigh, weathered and worn. "I have doubled the guard patrol for tonight. I hope you can find time to rest. We will deal with this accordingly, and neither of you should trouble yourselves."

Roy wished he could join them. Alas, he knew he would have all the _trouble_ dealing with this.

Katrina sank into a low curtsy. "Thank you kindly, Your Royal Majesty." She sprung back up, not even waiting for anyone to escort her, and tottered down the corridor back to her room.

Roy glanced at Yuriko, and knew she was waiting for a more formal dismissal from him.

"I'll escort you back, Yuriko," he said.

A ghost of a smile tugged her lips, and he linked arms with her once more. He turned to his mother. "I'll find you afterwards."

But Ji-Yu shook her head. "No. Don't bother. Return to your bedroom and rest, Jun. You need it the most."

Roy let the words absorb, wishing to he didn't agree with her. He and Yuriko slunk down the corridor, with Officer Durante traipsing behind them a few paces. God, Roy definitely needed to offer him a raise now.

"You're sure you're all right?" Yuriko interjected into the silence – which surprised Roy, given how silent and soft she was.

He'd not been physically harmed, but he still felt like he'd need to lick his wounds when he returned to his bedroom. Still, he wanted to show a brave face. "I'm… shaken… but I'll manage." He arranged a weak smirk on his face. "Can't be crown prince without a few threats to the throne, right?"

Yuriko didn't say anything – but Roy couldn't misplace a sadness that swept over her. Perhaps he was stupid, for keeping his pain to himself, but it was better than to burden her with it, right?

They reached her door – four guards stood outside, shifting into respectful bows as they neared. Roy waved at them to step away, just for a few moments. There was no way he was allowing Yuriko to remain unguarded, even though she did prefer her privacy. Even if, perhaps, she was the spy.

"The guards will be posted here all night. I hope that's all right with you."

She remained blank, but nodded. "Yes, I can understand why it will be necessary tonight."

 _Tonight_. Every other night, she could dismiss them. He wanted to tell her _not_ to, but perhaps it was the clue he needed. Perhaps it indicated her real affinity. For now, he would let it pass – until he found out a way to glean real answers. He wasn't in the mood for an interrogation, either.

"Right, well," Roy began. "Thanks for accompanying me tonight. I'm sorry it wasn't sheer awesome. The food sort of sucked, too, so if you're hungry, just ring for your maids."

She nodded, silent, and turned to her room – then, she stopped, and turned back around. A radiance grappled her.

"I… I know it isn't my place to speak," she whispered. "But… if you need someone to talk to about this, then I'd implore you to confess to someone… perhaps not me, but someone you are close to."

Roy blinked away the preposition, surprised anything of the sort came out of Yuriko's mouth. Yuriko, the girl who didn't seem to have much emotion in the first place, telling Roy that he should confess his true feelings to someone he could trust. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, but if Yuriko noticed how pent up he felt, and had needed to speak to him about it, then it must have been obvious.

He arranged a smirk on his face. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

"It doesn't bode well to bottle your feelings."

He absorbed the seriousness of her expression – then, it vanished, pulled into the air and dissolved like vapour. She clasped her hands together, and bowed.

"Goodnight, Your Highness."

Roy mumbled a weak, "Night," and Yuriko turned on her heels and glided into her room, quiet as a ghostly apparition. The guards, all four, returned to their positions outside her bedroom door, still and silent as stone statues. Ron headed back to his room, trying to block his stewing thoughts. Thankfully, Rudy was present when he walked in the door – with a tray of scones and herbal tea. Even more thankfully, Rudy didn't throw question after question at him, standing by the room door in silence whilst Roy snacked. Waiting to be dismissed.

Roy just wanted to tumble into bed, but the lame meal at Midknight plus the scare to his life had left him ravenous. He wiped scone crumbs from his suit jacket over his floor – which made Rudy twitch – and spoke.

"There's something you need to add to the Board."

Rudy straightened. "Oh dear. Lady Yuriko…?"

"She dismisses her guards and her maids. At night." He nursed his tea. "If that's not suspicious, I don't know what is. Could be sending her superiors nice little notes."

Rudy nodded. "Need I mention that she was present tonight, during the… confrontation?"

He needn't. "It could just be coincidence…?" Roy mumbled.

"How often do coincidences happen like that?" Rudy responded, hardly moving a muscle of his serious face.

The dread within Roy spiralled downwards – he had to consider the possibility that Yuriko had allowed the rebels to gain access to the broadcast. She'd been with Roy the entire time—

Or… had she?

He remembered Katrina dragging him away – for a conversation. Yuriko had stepped back to allow them privacy. Had those few moments allowed Yuriko to signal the rebels? Perhaps all she had needed to do was blink twice and tap her elbow.

"She stepped away for a few moments when I was talking to Katrina."

Rudy paled, sneaking a glance at the bathroom door. "That doesn't make the situation better."

But if she hadn't? If it really was coincidence? Yuriko had been implicated for something they had no proof of, implicated based purely on their wild conspiracies.

Rudy inhaled a breath. "Regardless of whether Lady Yuriko is innocent or not, I shall add all new information to the Board." He disappeared into the bathroom, and Roy heard the scratch of note-taking.

He just didn't understand. _Why_? If Yuriko truly was the spy – and that was a big _if_ – why did she want to dethrone him and his family? What possible motivation could be behind that?

Rudy zipped back into the bedroom. "It's done, Your Highness."

"Thanks." Roy waved his hand, deciding to think more on Yuriko's fate tomorrow. "You can go now."

But Rudy lingered, concern extending his frown on his long face. "You're sure you're all right?"

Roy didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to talk about it, either. "I'm fine." He feigned arrogance. "I have to catch up on my beauty sleep."

Rudy's frown didn't budge. "I've known you for seven years. I can tell when you're lying."

"You're right. I'm already beautiful."

At this, Rudy rolled his eyes. "Very well. I will return at dawn, as per usual. Though if you do wish to talk," his lips formed a thin line, "I am happy to provide an ear."

He bowed, shuffling quietly out of the room, leaving Roy to himself. Roy fell against the bed, letting the swamp of silk and linen soothe him. Princes did have to endure crap like this all the time – no matter what country, wherever in the world. Some moron always threatened royalty, out of jealousy, envy, aggression… Roy knew this like it was inked onto his skin. Ji-Yu and Merrick had taught it from a young age, that Roy should watch his back at all times.

This felt different. With the spy… it was like he didn't even feel safe in his own home anymore.

 _A Selection can never help to hide your true insecurities._

The words rolled around in Roy's head, tumbling and falling like a never-ending waterfall. He clamped his eyes shut and grumbled – the Selection was meant to bring forth his best, not cover his weaknesses. Besides, he'd come down hard on the party behaviour. He hadn't snuck out since that day he'd been caught by Ji-Yu, hungover in his bedroom after noon, more than a month ago. No matter how much he yearned to return to the Salt and Stars nightclub, and how much the Jägermeister shots called to him, the Selection had changed him for the better.

Roy sat back up, and shucked his clothes for pyjamas. Yeah, Walter Wolanski had no clue what he was talking about. For leader of the rebels, he sure did paint a target on his back. His name and face were probably being tossed about downstairs at this very moment by the secret service, searching and scouring the entirety of Illéa for him. And with Roy helping to find the spy, it would be no time at all until he was apprehended.

For now… Roy drew on his silk trousers and strode into his bathroom, staring at the Board. With Rudy's adjustments, it had sticky-notes attached next to Levinia and Yuriko's pictures. The suspicious girls – so far.

There was a lot of space for more. Now that they had the identity of the rebel leader, Walter Wolanski would find a place on the Board. Perhaps the visual would help connect him to the spy roaming the palace. Perhaps he would be the ticket Roy needed to free him from the spy, and allow him to continue his Selection in peace.

Or perhaps… he would make everything worse.

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 **A/N:** oh no! The villainous leader appears! Who is Walter Wolanski? What are his plans? Is Yuriko Sato... an instigator?! I love hearing your opinions, so let me know what you think! :D

I've decided, for lulz, I'm going to start adding 'Next Time Teasers', which is basically a line from next chapter taken completely out of context to give you a feel of... well, _next time_. I have also added a short list of characters to my profile, so if you forget who anyone is, check there (wouldn't blame you. There's getting to be so many that I'm forgetting some of them myself XD)!

All reviews, favourites and follows are immensely appreciated! Thanks so much and I hope you enjoyed it!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: "How on earth had Mr and Mrs Berg decided this world would benefit from such a soggy loaf?"


	13. A Discussion, After a Fashion

The tense atmosphere of the palace still lingered as Roy, up early and ready to eat breakfast, strolled down the hallways for the Great Room. Guards flanked the walls in pairs, some stiff by corners and others marching in rigid patterns. Even for Roy, who had lived in the palace his whole life, the presence of so much security was jarring, and instilled the direness of the Walter Wolanski situation.

Walter Wolanski, leader of the Southern Rebels. Roy grumbled, nodding his head vacantly to a pair of passing guards and swerving around the corner. Now that he'd had time to sleep on it, part of him wanted to punch him in the face. That he could ruin a perfectly fun (sort of) dinner with his mandible of harsh words and venomous threats, that he could cause such panic to so many innocent people, that he could threaten his throne and family. Even his name was filled with so much smarminess that Roy could lather it on a bathroom wall and call it soap. He wondered if the Midknight security had found the source of the wayward broadcast yet.

He rounded the corner of the east wing – nearly running headfirst into Katrina.

Katrina, with her usual bow-shaped hair bun, and her poofy pink dresses, and the anger written on her face, leant against the corner wall. But her lips appeared to move on their own, speaking whispers of words aloud. She was… talking to herself?

He stilted his walk. "Er, Katrina?" Roy said, by way of greeting.

Katrina leapt from her position and whirled to face him. "Oh, god, Fitzroy! Don't do that!"

Roy couldn't stifle his smirk. "You were… scared?"

She scoffed and crossed her arms. "No. You merely surprised me."

"And you were talking to yourself? Pffft."

She stomped her foot on the ground. "I was waiting here to offer you some sympathy from yesterday, but I _guess_ you don't need it."

Katrina? _Sympathy_? Was that even part of her dictionary?

She must have read the shock on his face, as she leant back on the wall and stared hard at the ceiling. "Look, let it be known that I don't like you. You're insufferable, annoying, obnoxious, arrogant, glued to the mirror image of your ugly looks—"

"We get it. You love me. Your point?"

"But," Katrina pinched her lips in disgust, "I wouldn't wish that dumpster-living regurgitated crotch bunion on even the worst of my enemies. So…" She met his eyes. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

Roy didn't know how to react. The villain of Roy's life had just admitted that she felt bad for him. _Bad_. Pure _sympathy_ , an emotion Roy didn't think Katrina could conjure even if she took How to Feel Sympathy 101. He let his shoulders drop.

"Erm… thank you."

"And I will not be repeating myself," she barked, standing tall again. The air of haughty princess had returned. "Though you should know that you _technically_ haven't paid off your debt, yet."

Any connection Roy felt with Katrina drained.

"Wait… what?"

"You didn't finish your speech. You never apologised. Therefore, you still owe me—"

"My _life_ was endangered!"

"Yes, well." She brushed a loose strand of blonde hair from her shoulder. "So was mine. But we survived. The world still thinks you're a total loser, so you'd better think of some way to show that we are on friendly terms, or the papers are going to start dividing into Team Katrina and Team Roy." She gave him a smirk. "We all know which team is more popular."

So much for _sympathy_. Roy grounded his teeth together. "Fine – but I'm not going to another asparagus dinner, again. I'll make it up to you some other way."

The prospect rolled around in Katrina's mind – Roy could see the crafting of another plan in her eyes. Then, she straightened, and blew out a short sigh.

"Very well. I accept." Katrina darkened. "And you'd better give me a place in the fashion show, if it ever occurs."

"I will, if you admit," he smirked, "that Team Roy is the best team."

Katrina snorted. "Ew. No."

Before he could retort, Katrina marched down the hallway for the Great Room. She hadn't even tried to hide her distaste that time. Roy clasped his hands together, picturing an Illéa where Katrina didn't exist. How on earth had Mr and Mrs Berg decided this world would benefit from such a soggy loaf?

Still, even her presence had made him momentarily forget about the rebels. She was so grating, so excruciatingly annoying, that he forgot about Walter Wolanski. For once, he would be grateful to her.

He waited a few minutes before making his own way down the hallway for the Great Room (he definitely didn't want her to yell "Stop following me!" down the corridor). The butlers opened the door for Roy – he was greeted by over thirty pairs of eyes and creeping silence. The Selected plus Katrina in their seats at the U-table, and his family, at the head, along with the various butlers and maids dotting about.

Everyone wanted to know how the Crown Prince felt about last night's events.

Merrick called out, "Hello, son!" with a cheery smile.

Roy sucked in a long breath – he knew he'd have to address the issue eventually – and slunk his way to the head table.

Gail, who frowned, but at least wasn't teary anymore, poked her marshmallow cereal with the back of her spoon. "Is Jun okay?" she whispered to him.

He grinned, ruffling her hair. "Sure, I'm fine now."

Ji-Yu stood up, quickly taking Roy to the back of the room. Roy allowed her – no doubt she had some news.

"You're all right?" she asked.

Roy blew out a sigh. "I won't be if you hold me back from my food, Mother." Given the pitiful snack and early night yesterday, plus the Katrina debacle, Roy's stomach was practically clenching from lack of nourishment.

She pursed her lips. "Very funny." Her dark eyes darted to Merrick and Gail, and the attendees hovering over them with platters of fruit and trays of animal-shaped toast, before she glanced back to Roy. "Augustus Teakwood got back to me. Someone tampered with the broadcast line within the manor house."

Which meant the Southern Rebels had an inside man at the Midknight Country Club. Great.

He dropped his shoulders. "I can't contain my _excitement_ at this news."

She must have ignored him. "Augustus is conducting interrogations of everyone – the guards, the waitresses, the cooks. If there was a rebel amongst them, we'll know by the evening. Or… perhaps…"

She glanced at the Selected table – to where Yuriko Sato sipped her orange juice and talked quietly to a horrified Roxanne Perez. Roy knew what Ji-Yu meant – that perhaps Yuriko had been an inciter.

He wasn't sure how, though. If Yuriko truly was the spy, how could she have helped sabotage the broadcast? Though she had disappeared for a few minutes, it surely wasn't enough time to chop some wires and reroute some pathways.

"You don't really think…?"

"I wasn't there, Jun. I can't say for you. But… it's possible all the same. I don't like the fact that she was there when this whole spectacle took off."

Roy remembered the conversation with Rudy yesterday evening. Was it coincidence, or something more?

"Are you…" the words stuck in his throat, "are you implying you want me to eliminate her?"

Ji-Yu sucked in a long breath, and straightened. "I'm implying that you think hard about what decision you make when going forwards with her."

If he'd had chosen any other of the Selected, would he be in the same situation? Would another Selected be in the firing range for elimination?

Putting the decision off, he stepped back and waved. "I'm hungry. Can I eat now?"

Ji-Yu rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Jun. This is serious."

"So is the state of my hunger. If I were in a Sims game, my Plumbob would be red."

He doubted Ji-Yu understood the reference, but she shrugged him off anyway. Roy sat down, and tucked into his blueberry pancakes – sweet and tangy on his tongue. When he'd finished – and Ji-Yu had given him an approving nod, Roy drew a long breath and stood to his feet. The Selected girls quietened to whispers, to nothing. Waiting for him to speak. A tug of nerves filled Roy, but he shoved them down.

"So, you're all probably wondering about the Midknight… er, disruption." His voice carried through the room, and he wished he had a teleprompter. "You've probably all heard from Yuriko, or some skewed version from the _Illéan Times_ , but I'm here to tell you the truth. Yes, some creep sabotaged the broadcast and made a threat to my life, and to the life of my family, but no physical attack was made."

There was a collective sigh of relief from the girls – even the staff breathed silent exhales in support. Still, Roy didn't feel ready to rest yet.

"This… isn't the first time some lunatic has made a threat against me, but it is the first _serious_ one. I am fine, though. Shaken, but well. Same with my father, the guards who were present with us." Roy kept his face neutral. "Still, I… just wanted to tell you all that things like this, threats against the crown are… more common than you'd think. Being queen of the country isn't as glamourous as it seems." He grinned. "Heck, look at my mother."

He smirked, and there were a few chuckles – Ji-Yu tutted at his joke, but seemed to take it is light-hearted teasing. He couldn't help but add a dash of humour into a serious matter – otherwise he might just fold in from the gravity of it all.

"What I'm trying to say here is…" he paused, "if you think all you have to do is wear pretty dresses and wave at crowds, you have a bad perception of life here. And if what you've heard, or what you've personally witnessed" – he glanced at Yuriko – "isn't for you, then… then you are more than welcome to ask to leave."

A whisper rippled through the U-shape table, with an ominous passing of worry amongst the faces of the Selected. Roy could even hear Katrina, muttering something – no doubt, judgemental – to Ferelith Riverly.

"You don't have to do so publically. Just come up to me whenever you're ready, and ask to leave. I won't be mad. Promise." He grinned, sticking up his pinkie finger in confirmation.

More shuffles and whispered discussion. He wondered how many would leave after today. He wondered if anyone would at all.

He sat back down – Gail patted his arm.

"I liked your speech!" she piped.

"Thanks." He winked. "You're probably the only one."

And when the dinner ended, and the Selected girls filed out, Roy came face-to-face with two of them on his way back to his bedroom.

The first – Cassia Anderson, the author and the girl with the honorary title of the first Selected Roy had met. The second – Roxanne Perez, the veterinarian, with the honorary title of the last Selected Roy had met. Both were also painfully shy, and he had to find the coincidence amusing.

Cassia fiddled with her hands as she addressed him with a curtsy.

"Your Highness," she squeaked. "Erm…"

"This is about what I said earlier, isn't it?"

Roxanne dipped into curtsy and rose up again, unable to meet Roy's eye. "Yes. We both stayed behind, and had a talk about it."

"With all due respect, I… don't think I'm fit for this." Cassia mumbled her words.

"Neither do I," said Roxanne. Her gaze seemed focused elsewhere, as if she were looking into another place and time.

So, there were two. Roy nodded. "I understand. Wouldn't want to force anyone into a job they didn't want."

Cassia seemed to flinch. "But we really appreciate the opportunity."

"Of course," Roy said, with a smile. "And we're all still friends. I hope you'll visit on your novel tours, Cassia. And Roxanne," he turned to her, "you're still more than welcome to visit the stables. Heck, if the horses are ill, I might even hire you to look after them."

Roxanne flushed. "Oh, that would be wonderful."

"Yes, quite," said Cassia.

"Then you're both hereby, _gracefully_ ," Roy puffed out his chest, "dismissed."

Two more down. Twenty-three left.

Both the girls bowed. Cassia twirled around, seemingly more pleased than she had been for the weeks she'd been here, and scurried down the hallway. Roxanne stilted, a frown caressing her.

"Something the matter?"

"I…" Roxanne began, "I feel like I haven't been completely honest with you."

Worry singed him like a naked flame. Roy restrained his face from marring with shock. "Oh?"

Roxanne's shoulders tensed. "The truth is… there is already someone I'm in love with."

The anxiety in Roy's body flowed out. It didn't appear that Roxanne was confessing to spy-ness. Roxanne was not the spy.

Which meant, unless Cassia _was_ , the real spy was still left amongst the Selected. He wanted to groan – for once, disappointed that she hadn't told him what he most dreaded to hear.

"In love with someone else?" he mused. "Can I ask whom?"

An eager shine brimmed in her. "His name is Blake. He's a Five, you see, from Dominica, back home… my parents would have disapproved of him because of his 'low caste' – which is an awful thing to say."

Not that Roy wanted to, but he didn't dare disagree. A sudden flame had captured her eagerness and forged it into determination. It was a side of Roxanne he'd never seen.

She continued. "But… with the money from this Selection, I can afford to upgrade him. Regardless of what my parents think, I can love him as publically as I want now."

"Did you enter my Selection just for the money?" he said, with a smirk.

But Roxanne shook her head vigorously, the curly strands of hair falling loose over her shoulder. "Oh, no! I actually really liked the idea of being queen, you know? But… I suppose after this, it's made me rethink the position. And that I miss Blake so terribly… oh, you're not offended, are you?"

Roy held up his hands. "I'm actually flattered you decided to tell me."

"I didn't think it would be right not to," she said. "And I was worried how you were going to react, but… you're okay about it?"

"Sure," Roy said, giving her a thumbs-up. "Not sure if you've noticed, but I'm okay with pretty much everything."

She giggled at that. "Yes, I did notice." She curtsied, low and long. "Then, thank you so much, Prince Roy. I'll always remember your kindness."

Roy waved her away. "Aw, shucks. You're making me blush."

She laughed again. "And I'll definitely visit the horses."

He nudged her. "I'm invited to your wedding, right? Bloxanne forever?"

She barked a laugh. "I-I couldn't even think about that yet." Then, she winked. "But yes, if it does happen… you are invited."

Roy pumped his fist. "Aw, yeah!"

Roxanne sucked in a breath. "I'm going to pack my things, now. Good luck with your Selection, and the… the rebels."

"Thanks." He wasn't sure the rebels were anything to be thankful for. "Say hi to Blake for me."

She skipped down the hallway, and chirruped, "I will!" before disappearing around the corner.

Roy couldn't help but grin stupidly - she seemed so happy, so content, to have that off her chest. He thought the rounds of eliminations after the mass would be the most difficult – the personal eliminations – but that wasn't so bad. In fact, he felt more chipper about returning to his bedroom to edit the Board.

Cassia Anderson and Roxanne Perez – eliminated. Roy stuck the felt red crosses over their pictures. When the press got wind of the elimination, it would ripple to the rebel forces, too. If Cassia was the spy, Ji-Yu would find out from their sources soon enough.

Roy's eyes slid to the two new pictures: one of a hooded man, and another of a ten-pointed star. It was exact, and the hooded man didn't quite capture Walter's creepiness, but they would do as placeholders for now. They were visuals to guide him towards the feared truth. Rudy had even laced red thread between pins stuck in Walter's picture, and pins stuck in Yuriko and Levinia's picture. Next to their quotes, their coincidences. The fact that Yuriko was even there at the sabotage. Although Levinia was definitely less in the deep end than Yuriko for her throwaway comment, she still found a place – still present to remind Roy that anyone could betray him.

A ringing tore his thoughts in two. Curious, Roy plucked his phone from his pocket. The number wasn't one he recognised, and suddenly felt wary – still, he answered, preparing to run out of the door and put it on speaker for the guards if necessary.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Your Highness! It's me, Vana Tyler!" Her peppy voice travelled through the static. Roy's shoulders relaxed.

"Oh, Vana! How are you?"

"How am _I_?" she echoed. "How are _you?_ "

This again. Part of him really didn't want to dwell on Walter Wolanski anymore. That man deserved no more place in his thoughts than he was being given. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. How… did you get my number?"

"Oh, through PR! I hope that's all right."

Roy pondered on whether he should be stricter with his public relations team from now on. "Ah, sure. What did you need?"

"Erm, so… the charity fashion show?" She trailed off, but started again. "I know it's inappropriate to ask, given what happened yesterday, so I'll understand if you don't want to hold the show anymore, but…?"

The charity fashion show – he'd nearly forgotten. Perhaps the timing was awkward, but maybe that was exactly what they needed. Something fun, light and vivid to take their minds off the madness of the world. Ji-Yu _had_ asked him to think of some sort of event that could be televised, something that could stir up hype and attention within the public. And Roy never turned down the chance to strut his stuff on the catwalk.

"No, that sounds awesome. Yes, I still want to host—" He remembered his parents – Ji-Yu, controlling and strict, doubling the guard patrol for the night. And Merrick, who was there at the Midknight dinner and petrified for Roy's safety. Though they might have bowed to the idea at one point, perhaps yesterday's harrowing debacle would change their mind. Would they condone such a public event after the rebels stepped from the shadows?

"Hmm – well, I think it's a good idea," he started again, "but I'd have to ask my parents."

Vana giggled. "You're Crown Prince and you still have to ask your parents' permission? That's so hilariously relatable."

Roy held a hand to his heart. "I'm still their widdle boy."

"That's great, then! Well, tell you what – I'll go, and in the meantime, you ask them and pick some girls to walk down the catwalk with us."

Roy paled. "I— what?"

"Sure! It's still your Selection, after all – and you'll definitely be modelling, too! Princess Gail could join us as well, if she wants!" He could imagine her winking. "Yuriko must model something, given how fit she was at the dinner. And obviously, we want to have Ambrosia Nichol and Natasha Barron up there. They'll do wonders for the credibility—"

"As if holding a fashion show in the _monarchy's_ _palace_ won't?"

"—and I was going to ask my good friend, Jasper Bellini-Torres to model, too. His sister's in your Selection, did you know?"

Luna Bellini-Torres. Impossible to forget her icy attitude to everything.

"Ohhhh," Vana continued, "and I was thinking we could also have Romilda Van der Voort. She's so stylish as the host of the Capital Report, every time, _and_ she won _Illéa's Next Top Model_ all those years ago… she'd be amazing, too!"

"I'll ask." As if Romilda would turn down the opportunity to model again.

The conversation with Katrina before breakfast popped into his head, and he grimaced. "Oh, and Katrina wants to take part, too," he said, with far less enthusiasm than he should have.

"That's great!" Vana replied. "She can help the publicity of the event! Oh, and maybe help seat the guests!"

Roy was nearly certain that Katrina wanted a more _active_ part in the modelling, but making her an usher was just too good to pass up.

"Yes, so," Vana sped on, "the Selected girls… we'd probably need tall girls. Five-foot-six, at least. Three should do, given our current line-up. You can choose, right? I trust His Royal Highness' judgement!"

Roy pinched his lips, not entirely sure how he'd go about choosing models for the charity fashion shoot. As far as he remembered, there were more short girls than tall in his Selection.

"What kind of outfits are we modelling?"

"You'll see!" She squealed. "Oh, and the rest of the Selected can help, too! Stage hands, escorts, attendees… this could be a really big Selection-related party!"

It was a way to get the rest of the Selected involved. Perhaps it would help him weed a few down from _absolutely-nots_ to _maybes_ , too. "This sounds pretty great."

"Doesn't it? Ah! This is really happening!"

"… _Maybe_." Roy didn't want to drive up her hopes, only for his paranoid parents to strike her down.

"A charity fashion show! At the palace!"

" _Maybe_."

"All right!" It was as if she'd never heard him at all. "You ask His and Her Majesty, and get me some names, and we'll get right down to work! See you soon!"

She hung up before Roy could reply. He tossed his phone onto his bed, and tried to imagine what sort of calamity the fashion show would be.

No, not calamity. This was going to be his moment of awesome, the time when people finally came to realise that Prince Roy could rule a country and have style. Perhaps this was more skewed to the _style_ side, but… the _ruling_ was a work in progress.

And it would show Walter Wo _-lame-_ ski that Roy would not be fazed by his comments and threats. That Roy did not make mistakes. That his Selection only enhanced his greatest strengths, not covered his true weaknesses.

He sucked in a determined breath and left his bedroom for Ji-Yu's office.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy had prepared an entire speech as to why a fashion show would be a good idea – who wouldn't want to see a handsome prince in tight clothes? – and was ready to fight for it until he heard shouts from the other side of Ji-Yu's office door.

Shouts from both of his parents. They were arguing.

He felt a nook in his heart carve out slightly, crumbling into dust within him. Arguing? His parents? It was so unlike them – so unlike Merrick, who hardly ever raised his voice to yell and scream.

"—to continue the Selection, Ji! Roy is in _danger_! Don't you care?"

"Of course I care, Merry! Of course, more than anything—"

"So why allow him to continue? This Selection— he could be _killed_!"

They were arguing over Roy.

Roy stepped up to the door and knocked, hard. The shouts on the other side stopped dead, a silence so quiet Roy could hear his rapid heartbeat.

The door cracked open – Merrick, red-faced, peered around. His blond hair, which was usually combed and neat, frolicked and stuck out like quills on his head.

"Oh, son," he whispered. "You didn't hear that, did you…?"

Roy felt a wash of guilt and anger at once. "I heard enough."

He pushed inside – Ji-Yu was seated at the desk with her head in her hands. No tears, but a pulsing vexation radiating from her, weaving tension into Roy. Her brow matted with sweat.

Merrick shut the door, but didn't meet his eyes – or Ji-Yu's. "Your mother and I were having a discussion."

"Arguing," said Roy.

"A _discussion_ ," Merrick pressed, "about your Selection."

Ji-Yu spoke in a crackled voice. "Your father wishes to cancel it."

Roy glanced to him. Merrick's cheeks puffed, but his eyebrows creased on his forehead. He was serious – little of the happy-go-lucky father Roy was used to.

"Your romantic affairs can be sorted another time, when the Southern Rebels aren't threatening our home," he argued.

Ji-Yu narrowed her eyes. "And by doing so we let them win, that we will bend to their will. We show them that we are weak."

"It's not weak to show that we care about our family!"

Ji-Yu slammed her hands on the table and shot to stand. "It _is_ weak to show that we cave to the demands of damn rebels!"

Knots of tension grasped Roy's lungs. No, he couldn't stand this – his parents rowing over something that wasn't their decision to make. Arguing over Roy, _about_ Roy.

"Hey!" he yelled, standing between them, letting some of his annoyance fuel him. "This is _my_ Selection, so this should be _my_ decision!"

Merrick froze in his spot, his hands clenching by his side. There was a war in his eyes – of love and sympathy, of caring for his family, of a desperate hope. His neck glistened with perspiration and throbbed with tension. Meanwhile, Ji-Yu burnt bright and fierce, a bonfire in the night sky. Her nails dug into the ebony wood of her desk.

Roy drank it in. It was madness, really, given how strongly they had argued for him to _have_ a Selection to begin with. Now Merrick had broken off from that want.

Roy took a deep breath. It tasted hot and stale. "It's _my_ choice."

Merrick stepped towards him. "Son—"

"Don't, Dad. You and Mother were the ones who made me hold this thing in the first place."

Ji-Yu sat back down. A calm had swaddled her – as if she knew she'd won already. He met her eye – and he could see what she wanted to say, so urgently waiting on the tip of her tongue: they couldn't find the spy if the Selection was over. In this poker game against Walter Wolanski, knowing about the spy was their royal flush. All Roy needed to do was keep a straight face.

Ji-Yu cleared her throat. "You're right. It should be your choice."

Roy wished he could share it with Merrick, the shrouded secret in the palace, but knowing that a spy was amongst the Selected would only power his argument further to cancel the Selection. No. Roy had just got his act together – he'd just met the girls. He'd created his Board, and he was motivated to stick it to Walter Wolanski's face. He was ready.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Roy said, turning to face Merrick. "I have to go on."

Merrick shook his head. "You don't _have_ to do anything, son."

"Well, I _want_ to go on, then. It would be such a waste to cancel it now. Besides." He fished for the right words to say. "I'm… enjoying myself."

Merrick's eyebrows rose. "You're… enjoying yourself? Really? I was certain you were miserable being forced into this…"

"I _was_ miserable," he began, his feelings rolling off from some unknown part of him. "But… they're not so bad. All right, Jane Crofton was a stretch, but… maybe one of them will be worthy of me. And maybe I'll be worthy of one of them." He puffed out his chest. "I need to prove that I don't run at the first sign of danger. I can't do that if I cancel my Selection."

"We can use its momentum," Ji-Yu added, "to give the public something to run behind. Perhaps it will mask the seriousness of the rebels."

Merrick frowned. "But _should_ we mask it? Is it right?"

It wasn't, Roy knew, but they had to do it. To cancel the Selection was to show Illéa that the monarchy was afraid, and if the monarchy were afraid, how would an ordinary citizen feel?

"It isn't right," Roy input. "But it'll prevent mass panic." He switched glances between his parents. "Please don't argue over me. I'm not worth it."

Suddenly, Merrick burst into a hearty grin, and he roped his arms around him in a hug. "You're always worth it, Roy." He clasped Roy's shoulders. "Though really, we weren't arguing. It was discussion."

"With loud voices," said Ji-Yu.

"And mean expressions," said Merrick.

The tension, he could feel, had dissolved, flowing out of his bones. Roy rolled his eyes. "Sure, Dad."

"I'm serious."

"As serious as Mother?"

"… Not _that_ serious."

Ji-Yu snorted. "Oh, stop it, you two. So, the Selection continues?"

Merrick grabbed Roy's attention once more with a tightening hold on his shoulders. "You're sure?"

Roy met his gaze with a brazen smile. "I'm sure. If it makes you feel better, I'll cancel it the moment I feel uncomfortable, all right?"

Merrick's twisted frown didn't imply he was satisfied at all, but he must have let it go, as he nodded. "All right. I can agree to that."

Ji-Yu let out a breath, and walked around her desk to them. "Good. Glad that's sorted." She petted Merrick's shoulder, which at least let Roy know they wouldn't dissolve into a shouting match the minute he left.

Roy clasped and unclasped his fingers. He still hadn't told them about the fashion show.

"So, speaking of sorting something…"

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

It had taken some convincing – especially Merrick – but Roy's parents caved to the idea of a charity fashion show, right in the palace. Ji-Yu, swayed by the idea of fashionable individuals at her disposal, and Merrick, with the merriment a large event would bring. That it would take eyes off the rebels for once, and allow them to focus on something that would truly be fun.

That is, they allowed it, so long as Roy agreed to strict security measures and for the event to be televised later, not live. And Roy could easily agree to it – he still got to swagger down a catwalk with spotlights centred on him. It only meant the public was denied the gift of his dashing good looks until a later time.

The conversation had oddly reinvigorated him, and he marched down to the Women's Room to make the announcement. And to ask for model volunteers, of course. He'd sent word for the girls to gather, and he guessed, now, they could only wait in trepidation of what he was about to say.

"Announcing the arrival of His Highness," the butler tooted, as he opened the doors, "Prince Roy."

The Selected girls rose from their seats, all twenty-three of them – plus Katrina, with her crossed arms and pout; Eulalia Shields, who made wild signs with her fingers to Lilly Carter, and Lanna, who smiled brightly at him. Gail, on the other hand, didn't stand up, her focus glued to the dolls in her hand and the imagined scene playing in her head.

"Good afternoon, ladies," said Roy.

There was a chorus of bows and curtsies. He realised, he should probably tell them all to stop that, given that one of them could be his future wife.

"So, first things first – Ladies Cassia Anderson and Roxanne Perez are no longer with us. They decided to leave due to the events of last night. I am again going to extend this invitation to all once more, just to be safe. You're not obligated to stay. Having said that," he raised a knowing finger, "we're all invited to Roxanne's wedding."

A few confused looks swept between the Selected, but he decided not to elaborate. It was more fun.

"So, for what I really came here to say." He cleared his throat dramatically. "Popstar Vana Tyler has proposed a charity fashion show, to be held right here at the palace. And…" he stretched out his arms in a mad gesturing pose, "she wants some of you girls to model!"

At first, dead silence – then, the preposition sunk in, and the room buzzed with sudden excitement. Girls turned to one another, clasped hands, jumped up and down. Blair Hunter let out a little excited scream, and Vanessa Hardy placed a hand to her lips. Dresses spun and glittered as a well of anticipation bubbled amongst them. It warmed Roy.

"We're going to be models in a _fashion_ show?!" yelped Skye Davenport, her mouth dropping open.

" _Some_ ," he said. Oh, dear, what had he started? "Vana Tyler has some… parameters that need to be met."

The girls quietened.

"Only tall girls, is the first. Above five-foot-six."

"Aw," chirruped Avianna DeLaurence, which made Roy frown.

"Vana already has places for Ambrosia" – he watched her flush – "and Natasha" – she pumped her fist with a small victory – "plus Yuriko, Romilda, myself, Gail, and Jasper Bellini-Torres. So there are three more spots," he hurried on. "I… figured this would be a popular event with you all, so I'm going to put names in a hat."

Elise Belmont put up her hand.

Roy couldn't suppress his grin. "You don't need to raise your hand."

"What will the other girls do?"

Roy had prepared for this question. "The rest of you will be stagehands, ushers, escorts, or will help with organisation in some way. So everyone can be involved. You don't have to take part though, if you don't want to. You can sit in the audience and mingle."

The left of the group parted, and Levinia Lefray stepped forwards. In her heels, she was monstrously tall – and her dress, as usual, plunged in just the right places. She meandered towards Roy, her jet-black hair swaying in time with her hips.

"I want to submit my name for modelling."

Roy flushed immediately, recalling that stupid kiss in the Illéan Drawing Room. The sultry words she'd spoken. Ugh. Was he always going to light up like a Christmas tree around her?

He glanced at Lanna. "Would you find me a hat, and some paper?"

Lanna dashed off, out of the room.

"Would anyone else like to volunteer to model?" He grinned. "Don't rush."

There was a moment of deliberation – whispers traded between girls, looks passing between them, nudges against the tall girls who could model.

Sherlock Grave stumbled out of formation. Her dress today struck the floor in lightning bolt shapes. "Sure. I'll give it a whack."

Next, Luna Bellini-Torres took a delicate step forwards, with her head held high. "I'll try, since my brother will be there."

He wondered if Jasper Bellini-Torres was anything like his ice queen sister.

Delia Colestrist jumped forwards, her chiton caressing the floor. "Sure. I'm tall enough!"

Then, Regina Landowski leapt forwards into the makeshift volunteering line and placed a hand to her heart. "Modelling sure seems fascinating. I'd like to try!"

Long silence crawled from the crooks of the room – Roy's gaze passed onto Riley's. Given that Riley was Vana's old tour manager before the Selection had started, he was surprised she hadn't put her name forwards yet.

She met his eyes with a cocked smile, as if to say, _you want_ me _to volunteer_?

Of course he did. It only made sense, that she model in the same ranks as Vana. He nodded his head, ever so slightly. Riley rolled her eyes, and stepped forwards to join the growing group. "All right. We'll see how this goes."

Roy continued to scan the rest of the room. The tall girls, peeking from over the heads of everyone else. Persephone Cahill just grinned, and pointed to her still-busted foot. She didn't want to risk a stumble. Camilla Daugherty stared ardently at the floor – modelling was probably not her thing – and Maeve Reynolds laughed in her natural, booming way. Probably not her thing, either.

He glued eyes with Vanessa Hardy and Chiara Romani-Carriedo. "Vanessa? Chiara?"

Chiara barked a laugh. "Yeah, no thanks. I'll help cater."

"I'm more into dancing," said Vanessa, with a quaint smile.

No one else stood forwards. Roy nodded his head.

"Well, then, good luck, ladies."

In perfect timing, Lanna slipped in through the door, armed with several scraps of paper, and one of Gail's princess cone hats from her costume wardrobe. He scribbled down the names, folded them into tiny squares, and dropped them into the hat.

"Gail?" he called.

She pushed through the crowd of girls, her dolls still in hand. "Rooooooy!"

He knelt to her level and held out her princess hat, the folded pieces of paper scratching against one another. "Would you do the honours?"

"Oooooh!" As if Gail could turn such an opportunity down. She bounded forwards and plucked three names from the hat, bouncing on the spot.

Roy brandished them for all to see. "All right," he said, unfurling them in his hand. "Then it looks like our models are…"

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 **A/N:** Ahahah! Sorry for the cliffhanger... actually, I'm not. Mwahaha, suffer. ;P Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Our first elimination. It was a tough call to make, but it's been twelve chapters without an elimination (not counting the throwaways) so I think one was due. I'm trying to move the story along, and that sadly means girls must go. This elimination is one I'd definitely consider 'nice' though, lol. All my thanks to Cassia and Roxanne's submitters, ravenclawgirl22 and La Rosa, for your wonderful characters! And you never know, they might reappear...

All reviews, favourites and follows mightily appreciated and loved. I do love hearing your feedback and opinions! Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: "Ugh, no - he couldn't, not after Persephone had seen his boxer shorts peering through his loose fly."


	14. Flying Loose

"— and unfortunately, the waitresses were too busy with their own jobs to notice anything outside of their peripheral vision—"

The morning sunlight glittered on the long ebony table, which seated twenty-or-so advisors, and warmed the dusty bookshelves lining the walls. This council meeting, presided by Ji-Yu and Merrick at the head of the table, had been called in the wake of the news that Augustus Teakwood had still failed to identify the saboteur of his own dinner.

Roy sank into his seat, which was stiff against his aching back, tuning in and out of the speech by Madam Tremaine. The council had thrown around several ideas as to why this had happened – Hobbs even suggested that Teakwood was a rebel himself – and how they could combat the rising threat of unrest in the south. But nothing conclusive had come up. No one had concrete evidence or breath-taking ideas that could sort the mess.

On the opposite side of the table, Persephone Cahill squeezed in between her mother, Eleanor, and Advisor Ramsbottom. Her notepad was open, and her red hair cascaded onto the paper when she took vigorous notes. She was also the best dressed: sublime in a pale lavender gown with beaded floral design on the chest and bust. The other advisors came in rather plain suits, or suit-dresses, though all carried notepads too, writing minutes in their fancy penmanship.

Roy hadn't even had time to call Rudy for help, since the meeting was spontaneous, and as a result his suit jacket was creased and his belt was too tight. He hadn't even had time to brush his teeth that morning, and chewed laboriously on gum to mask his morning breath.

Ji-Yu groaned, running a hand through her greying hair. "Very well. Thank you, Madam Tremaine," she spoke, signalling for the older woman to sit. "Sir Ramsbottom, what have our sources from Honduragua to say about the recent development?"

Merrick piped in. "Any news about a Walter Wolanski?"

Ramsbottom huffed out, the very movement seemingly tiring. "No, I'm afraid not. My sources, in fact, have never heard of a 'Walter Wolanski'. The man's a mirage." He grumbled, scribbling something down on his pad. "Their position in the Southern Rebels' ranks is low. They wouldn't be able to glean more information without climbing further up their hierarchy."

"Perhaps it would be in our best interest," began Gemima Chi, Ji-Yu's best advisor, "that your sources _do_ climb that ladder. We're sitting ducks without any more information."

"Agreed," said Ji-Yu.

Ramsbottom grunted. "I shall see to it immediately."

"I have some good news that may be of interest, Your Majesties," said Eleanor Cahill. Roy hadn't really noticed it before, because she and Persephone looked so different – Eleanor was dark-skinned and Persephone was light – but they carried themselves in the same way: with pride. "It appears an attempted coup of the council office in Dominica was successfully overturned."

Advisor Hobbs, at the other end of the table, clapped. "That is excellent news."

"Thank you; it's nice to hear some good news amongst all this," said Ji-Yu.

Gemima's eyebrows rose on her forehead. "And the media hasn't caught wind?"

"It was a non-violent coup – if one can do such a thing – performed during night-time," said Eleanor. "And I doubt the story passed officials in the province council offices. Nonetheless, whilst this is a victory, the Southern Rebels' insignia was found spray-painted onto the building's brick. They are gaining traction."

Roy wanted to groan. Gaining even more traction was never a good sign, and not at all a positive development after Wolanski's sabotage. They were growing more confident every day, fed by the inside information of the spy in the palace.

Roy glanced at Ji-Yu, who continued to rattle on about the rebel situation in the south. Her spy source has returned negative – that they hadn't heard news that their spy had been ejected from the Selection. Cassia Anderson and Roxanne Perez were free from spy disease, leaving Roy to mull about the fact that the spy was still around. One of the twenty-three.

Suddenly, Merrick and Ji-Yu rose to stand. The table followed in their wake, and Roy scrambled up.

"Then that will be all we are addressing this meeting. Reports by the end of this week, latest," said Ji-Yu. "Hopefully, we'll have word from Augustus Teakwood about possible rebel spies amongst his extended work staff, as well."

Merrick nodded, but with a smile. "Though, come tomorrow, everyone is welcome to take a quick breather by enjoying Vana Tyler's charity fashion show, in the Great Ballroom. I'm sure it'll be good fun."

There was gruff agreement of the advisors, a slipping and closing of notepad and paper, murmuring between one another, before a collective bowing and exiting of the boardroom. Roy lingered behind with his parents, Eleanor and Persephone. The latter had shut her notebook and clutched the pad to her chest, as if absorbing the very scribbles into her heart.

Ji-Yu blew a sigh. "I hope there aren't any fiascos during the fashion show, either." She tossed a glance at Roy. "Is everything ready?"

Roy suppressed a yawn. It was too early to think about spies, rebels, and organisation. "Yep."

Persephone drank in breath, turning to Ji-Yu with an exasperated smile. "Construction on the stage and catwalk are finished, and nearly finished on the seating areas. The models' measurements have been sent off, so we're just waiting for the clothes to arrive, which should be today."

It was a good thing Persephone had volunteered to be Roy's assistant for the fashion show. He doubted his tired brain could remember half the things she did.

Merrick clapped his hands. "We've never held a fashion show before!" he chirruped. "I can't wait to see you on the catwalk, son."

Eleanor Cahill smirked, petting her daughter on the shoulder. "Shame you couldn't be a model, Seph, with your ankle." She laughed suddenly. "Not that you need to strut down a catwalk to be an advisor, but, alas!"

Persephone just smiled – though Roy saw the spark of sadness the comment had procured.

Ji-Yu shook her head. "Your help with the organisation of this event has been essential, Persephone. I doubt Roy could have done it by himself."

"Your faith in me is _astounding_ , Mother," Roy quipped with a lazy smirk. It earnt a chuckle from Merrick and Persephone, but Ji-Yu just rolled her eyes.

"Yes," said Eleanor. "I'm quite looking forward to it, myself." She turned to Persephone. "I have one of the best seats, right?"

"In the middle wedge of tiers? Sure." It was Persephone's turn to smirk. "If you're willing to pay eighty dollars for it."

"Eighty? Goodness," said Eleanor, with a laugh. "Well, for charity, it's worth it." She picked at her folder. "I ought to be off. A report to write." She nodded her head towards Ji-Yu, Merrick and Roy, and kissed Persephone on the forehead. "See you later."

She strode out of the room. Persephone's eyes flickered to Roy, then to his parents, and she straightened. Probably realising that she was alone with the boy she was meant to be wooing, and his parents – and that it was hella awkward.

"I should go, too. Transcribe my notes, and work on the fashion show. Not everyone has RSVP'd yet."

"I'd say take Roy with you," said Merrick, "but his mother and I would like a word."

 _A word_? That sounded dangerous. Had he forgotten to do something?

Persephone nodded, and headed towards the door – but she froze next to Roy.

"Also, erm…" she whispered, so close he could feel her minty breath on his ear, "your fly is down."

Roy scrambled for the zipper to his trousers, and, indeed discovering it was breezing free, hoisted the zipper up. No wonder he felt a pleasant chill in his underwear. His cheeks burnt fiercer than the morning sun on the skin of his hands.

Persephone stifled a laugh. "See you later." She whisked herself out of the room.

Merrick was laughing, too. "I noticed when you stood up."

"Oh, shut up. It's early," said Roy, chewing the gum to keep his twitching jaw under control. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Ji-Yu didn't hesitate. "You haven't been on a date in a while," she said.

"So we wanted to encourage that you go on one," said Merrick, beaming. "Before the fashion show on Friday. So… today."

Roy blinked. He'd expected some heavy words of wisdom, or parental advice, but they were just telling him to get out more…?

"Er… okay," he said. The fact that _his parents_ asked him to date more grossed him out more than he wanted to feel.

"Persephone seems quite lovely," said Merrick with a teasing smile.

"She's intelligent, too," said Ji-Yu idly, gathering her things. "And very pretty."

Ugh, no – he couldn't, not after Persephone had seen his boxer shorts peering through his loose fly. "Just for that, I'm going to ask someone else."

Both Ji-Yu and Merrick grinned at each other. _Such trolls_ , Roy thought, meddling with his rather strange love life. The fact that they would be around to watch him court women was even odder, and probably more fuel for their childish antics. But it was better that they were trolling him, than arguing with each other.

Roy adjusted his wrinkled jacket, checked his fly, and made for the door to go to the Women's Room – but, instead, he stopped at the threshold.

"… Can I go brush my teeth first?"

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After disposing of the gum and vigorously brushing his teeth, and having Rudy readjust his suit (and double-checking his fly was shut), Roy made his way down the corridors for the Women's Room. He had no plan for this date he was going to have, so instead of thinking anything through, he was going to wing it, and see how it went.

He rounded the next corner, and spotted Kiersten Plank staring idly out of the ceiling-high windows, her back facing him. Her dress kissed the floor, slim line with a faint floral pattern, and she had a hand on the windowsill. Apparently, something was capturing her attention.

As he approached, he realised he could hear muttering… Kiersten was talking to herself?

"Are you all right?" Roy asked.

She didn't seem surprised at all that he'd snuck up, though she immediately fell silent, and turned to face him. The long braid of her brown hair weaved in blonde highlights that captured the morning glimmer. Next to him, she was nearly shorter by a head.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," she spoke softly, gazing back out the window. "Just thinking."

Roy followed her eye gaze. Beyond the entrance courtyard, the front lawn stretched for at least a mile before the golden gates that separated him from the rest of Illéa rose from the ground and shimmered with glistening spires. Even further than that was a long drive, and beyond the small forest of trees was the city – the skyscrapers of Los Angeles peaked over the horizon, concealing the sea.

There was a gardener tending to the plants, but apart from that, he didn't notice anything that would captivate her attention for so long.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She smirked suddenly – switching from the thoughtful girl to something different entirely – and side-glanced at him. "Naughty you, wanting to find out."

It had been a totally innocent question, and her demeanour somewhat threw him off. "I was just curious, Lady Kiersten." He couldn't believe that she was staring at the hedges and thinking of anything that would be 'naughty' to ask about.

She shrugged, her flirty exterior slipping back to the sombre one. "Nothing you should concern yourself with."

Cagey. Okay. Roy leant on the windowsill. He hadn't talked much to Kiersten much since their meeting, but he did know she wasn't high on his 'to keep' list. Perhaps this would win him over?

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Roy asked. He gestured to the front courtyard and garden beyond. "Down there?"

Kiersten turned to him, silent for the longest time. Her expression: blanker than a clean slate. Roy pressed his lips together – usually someone was at least anxious, or excited, about being asked on a date, right? But Kiersten had hardly acted at all.

"Sure," she said, with less enthusiasm than a spoon.

They ambled downstairs (Roy asking her about her work as a teaching assistant), collected coats from stationed maids and breached the doors to the courtyard. Hedge sculptures and ornamental furniture surrounded the circular stone depression at the front door, and Roy led her through some of the cobbled paths, through the figures of leaf and marble. The gardener on duty bowed, and let them on their way, though they were flanked by a pair of guards at all times.

And Roy discovered – he didn't feel unsafe around Kiersten, but he just didn't feel comfortable, either. It was like there was a giant brick wall between them that he was trying to break through, but the brick was indestructible.

"So, why did you enter the Selection?" he asked into the wind.

Kiersten stiffened underneath him, their arms tangled together. "It was a dare."

 _Oh_. Roy forced a laugh. "You don't want me?"

"No. Not really."

At this, Roy stopped walking. Kiersten jerked back, nearly tripping over her heels. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted him – it was that he phrased it present tense, and she'd _still_ said no. Granted, perhaps it was an awkward question to ask, but it still needed a kind answer.

"I just think," Kiersten spoke again, into the maddening silence, "that emotions will get in the way of logic, you know?"

Roy was gobsmacked. "You realise I'm having a Selection because I _want_ to experience the feels for someone, right?"

"… Right," said Kiersten, with a hardened face and deepening frown.

He sensed this was going nowhere. What was the point of her being here, if she wasn't willing to feel emotions? If she wasn't willing to laugh at his dumb jokes or dance at three in the morning? Wasn't that the entire point of his Selection?

"… I see…" Roy eventually said. She didn't respond, only glancing at the hedges and rubbing her elbows.

He slipped his arm free from Kiersten, letting the slight breeze chill him. A sudden knot of nerves coiled inside him when he realised what he had to do.

He refrained from frowning outright. "I… don't think we're going to get along very well."

Her eyebrows rose on her face, and she snapped her gaze to his. She _hadn't_ seen this coming?

"Oh," was her only response.

Roy sucked in breath, as if would calm his instincts to stick his head in the dirt. That would at least save him the embarrassment of having to eliminate her. How was he supposed to phrase it? _Get out_? _I believe your time here is over_? _Hasta la vista, baby_? He knew he had to be straight with Kiersten – no bumbling around the bush – so ended up rolling with whatever was in his head.

"I'm sorry – I don't think you and I can work together. Therefore, Lady Kiersten… I'm eliminating you from my Selection."

Kiersten blinked – five seconds, ten. The breeze tickled the loose strands of hair that reached down to her waist. She opened her mouth to say something, then pressed her lips together. Tightly.

The awkward tension was palpable – and it tasted like phlegm. Roy swallowed and held out his arm again. "I'll walk you back to the palace."

"No," she said sharply. "I can walk myself, thank you."

And with that, Lady Kiersten Plank swirled on her heels, and robotically fast-marched through the winding trails of garden to the courtyard, back towards the main entrance. Roy let the wind and luscious scents of the freshly-cut grass ease the blow.

When he said that eliminating Cassia Anderson and Roxanne Perez had been easy? He took it all back.

It felt like a gnawing in his bones. That Kiersten Plank would pack her bags, eliminated unwillingly, and head back home to Bonita with a bitter frown. That she would forever be known as _the girl that didn't get far_. That, after the buzz died, she might never reclaim spotlight again. Maybe there was a chance they could work? Maybe there was a chance Kiersten would be a wonderful wife?

Roy shook his head. No. He had to be firm. If he didn't feel an instant connection, then there was no point keeping her. She would recover from the loss, and move on – just like he would. As easy as it would be to keep everyone in the Selection forever, it would never whittle his choices down. And he'd never get to know anyone more than with the occasional encounter.

Kiersten had struck him as… too withdrawn for his taste. That, and her thorny responses to his questions made him shudder – not with delight, but with uncomfortableness. They were two parallel lines: never meant to cross.

But was it always going to be this… awkward?

Awkward was hardly a word Roy would use to describe himself, but even both of his apology speeches combined hadn't made Roy want to curl into himself as much as that encounter had. Maybe it would be a good idea to get an opinion from someone who knew the Selected. Not Ji-Yu – she'd never faced a loss in the competition, given Roy's very existence – so a less biased view would help.

Placing his thoughts in a basket in his mind, he strolled back to the front courtyard. Nodding his head to the gardener (he'd probably heard everything), he detoured around the palace, down the side driveways to the garage – for Sashi, the Selection organiser.

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The distinctive clamber of metal against metal touched Roy's ears before he reached the open garage door. The footsteps of the guards behind Roy melted into the tinkers of spanners and roars of restarted engines.

Roy peered around the open garage door, suspended above the garage. Sashi Bhattacharya was dressed in the strangest concoction of an outfit he'd ever seen: a sari, but with a greasy apron on the top, sturdy work gloves, and a pair of combat boots peeking from the swatches of blue fabric. Dirt stains matted her dark skin, darker than the henna tattoos. Sashi had probably earned a moment's break from her duties as Selection organiser, so hadn't had time to change from her work outfit.

He waited until she had finished cranking a motorbike's wheel before he spoke. "Sashi?"

She stumbled to stand and swivelled to face him – a pair of goggles coated her eyes, and she crested them on her forehead. "Oh, Your Highness!" she scrambled a curtsy. "I wasn't expecting you."

Roy wasn't expecting… this. The garage was a spacious area nearly the half the length of the side building's wall. Grease and oil stains marred the concrete floor, and workbenches to the back busied with tins of tar, metal instruments, and loose nuts and bolts. Several other workers utilised the space further down – reworking carriages for parades and polishing the limos – but Sashi had her own space, to work on a sole motorbike.

It was painted with orange flames. _Flames_. He knew Sashi liked motorbikes, and that she worked in the garage in her spare time, but he had no idea she liked to get down on her hands and knees and fix the things herself, nor that her visits were so frequent that they'd gifted her a portion of the garage to herself.

Sashi grinned lazily, catching Roy's stare. "You like my hog? She's a beauty."

He grimaced. He'd never had more than the average interest in vehicles.

"It's… very nice."

She glittered with mischief. "Everyone has a hobby, Your Royalness. Mine is motorbikes. Yours is…" she narrowed her eyes in thought, "… partying…?"

"… I'll take it."

She chuckled, retrieved a mysterious bottle and cloth from her toolbox and wiped at the leather seat – cleaner than Sashi's apron. "What can I help you with, Roy?"

He rounded to the other side of her motorbike and frowned. "I wanted to ask something Selection related."

She waved the cloth, not looking at him. "Go right ahead."

Just thinking about the situation that had occurred ten minutes ago sent his stomach clenching. He needed to talk about it.

"Is eliminating someone meant to be really, really awkward?"

Sashi barked out a laugh so fast Roy nearly flinched. She rose up from her kneel and cocked the cloth – dirt stains coating the surface.

"Yep. It is meant to be awkward. If it _isn't_ awkward, you're doing something wrong."

Well, it was a start. At least these feelings were normal.

He fiddled with his hands, absorbing the industrial taste of the room. "I just eliminated Kiersten Plank, and… she didn't look very happy. She was sort of snappy with me when I offered to walk her back to the palace."

Sashi adjusted the mirrors of her motorbike. "Ah, Kiersten. Intelligent girl. Sort of… closed off from the others." She shrugged. "I didn't think she was your type."

"You can say that again."

She smirked. "Yes, well, the Selection tends to make everyone a little tense – it _is_ a competition, after all – and everyone reacts to that tension in a different way."

Maybe Kiersten had been the spy. The burden of holding such an incredibly dangerous secret would make anyone snappy; Roy eliminating her might have been the straw that broke the camel's back. A spy would certainly be vexed that she could no longer glean information about her enemies when gone.

The thought actually eased him somewhat. "I don't want them to feel tense. _I_ feel tense."

"Everyone feels tense. You're looking for your 'true love', and they're hoping they can fill that spot!" She lifted a finger into the air. "I remember Beatrice Jacobs, the favourite to win your father's Selection, cried so many times because she didn't think she was good enough."

He winced, hoping none of his Selected reached that point.

"And me, when I was in your father's Selection—"

Roy nearly choked.

" _You_ were part of my _dad's_ Selection?!"

She paused, apparently unaware that he didn't know, but came to smirk. "Sure. That's how I met your parents. Your mother and I – oh, we used to stay up all night, sneaking sherry from the kitchens and pouring over clothes magazines and talking about hot boys… well, your dad, for her."

He couldn't fathom Ji-Yu and Sashi his age, doing teenage things. It was honestly alienating. Though it was even odder to think that if life had run down a different path, Roy could be half-Indian and chatting with his _mother_ right now.

"It's also how good ole' Merrick discovered my talent for organisation," Sashi said – staring at the ceiling, as if reliving the memory. "Hence why I'm back here to help you with your Selection."

Roy didn't know how to respond, and it must have shown on his face. She chuckled at his silence.

"Anyway, back to my story – I ended up eliminated before the Elite announcement." She frowned suddenly, her memories coloured with something dark. "I wasn't really one for the spotlight in the first place, and, well, the Selection is a sure-fire way to claim fame. I didn't like your father like that anyway, and he me, so we agreed it was for the best."

"So…" Roy tried to compile her thoughts. "What's the point you're trying to make?"

Sashi broke into a smile. "I suppose I'm trying to tell you that everyone reacts differently to the Selection. Now, I've proposed to the girls that our history classes are a place of relaxation and learning. No competition. Kiersten – she was quiet, kept her head down and focused on her work, but generally was very kind. Don't judge her, or any of them, too harshly for acting as they do around you. They'll get used to it… eventually."

Roy swallowed the words, rolling the scenarios around in his head. The rapid speed of his heartbeat was probably half the speed of what a Selected must feel. He wasn't sure he could imagine being in their shoes, surrounded by competition, in a foreign environment and a life-changing situation. He almost felt bad for them, now, hearing the stories from Sashi. The Selection wasn't meant to be _do or die_ (at least, not for them).

For now, the best he could do was make them feel at home. Ease them. Perhaps some would still act standoffish, but those that did would have to go. And… that was fine, he realised. He would be okay with that. Sure, she could be bitter or sad – but it was his Selection, after all. He had the right to choose.

He sucked in a breath – nearly regretting it, with the taste of tar like sour mould in his mouth – and spoke. "That… helps. I never thought of it like that."

"In the same way, you'll get used to it, too. When you eliminate more girls – and yes, you'll have to go through that awkwardness a few more times."

Roy could stomach that. He hoped.

Sashi clucked her tongue. "I'll bet my bike flames that your father felt okay about eliminating some girls, and terrible about others." She waved him away, nearly slapping him with the wet cloth. "Don't worry yourself so much."

He barked out a laugh. "I don't think that's possible" – especially given the spy – "but I'll try."

She grinned. "Yes you will. I'll make sure you do, Your Highness." Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she placed a finger on her chin. "You know, you might actually benefit by seeing them in our history and politics classes. When there's a whole group of them, and you're not on a particular lookout. What'd you say?"

It instilled a spark of hope into him. It was a good idea, definitely. By observing one of their classes, he could see who knew more about the inner workings of the country, too – if that would help him reach a decision.

He nodded, brimming with confidence. "All right. That sounds good."

"Then next week. Come watch." She smirked. "Maybe you could learn a thing or two."

"Doubt it." Roy straightened his tie. "I know everything about this country."

"Name the founder of Illé—"

"Gregory Illéa."

"-éa's _son_."

Gregory Illéa's _son_? He wracked his brain.

"Er… James?"

Sashi smirked – _wrong_. "Not so cocky now, are you?"

Roy groaned. "Oh, come on. Statistically speaking, that was the name most likely to be correct."

Sashi let out a giggle and shook her head. "Oh, Roy. Don't ever change that humour of yours." She nudged her head towards the gaping driveway. "Now, off you go. I have a motorbike to fix, and you have a fashion show to plan."

He pursed his lips, ready to retort that she should also be helping with the fashion show. But this was mostly a Selected thing, and Sashi had already done one Selection – enough for a lifetime.

Roy gave a lazy salute as he made his way back to the palace.

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After making sure he took the long route (in case he were to bump into Kiersten on her way out), Roy found himself standing in front of the grand doors to the Great Ballroom.

As the name suggested, it was a ballroom. And it was pretty great.

He nodded his head to the butlers, and they opened the door. Spotlights dazzled his vision, coalescing with the midday light through the giant floor-to-ceiling windows and the crystal chandeliers. Three wedge-shaped hulking tiers of velvet seats had been constructed around a long, thin stage – catwalk – and a proscenium nearer the back. Roy couldn't even see the full extent.

He slipped through guards organising their rotations, public relations teams inspecting the seats, and stagehands adding final touches to the curtains. A gap between the first row of seats and the catwalk was half-sealed off with red cord. The expanse of the curtained stage loomed over him, with the richest ruby colour they could procure. No doubt, behind that curtain were thousands of mechanisms and control panels for the light, sound and technical effects, wardrobe changes for the models, make-up and hair stations. It was a wonder the palace team had managed to build something like this in so little time.

"Testing, testing…" someone called out. Romilda van der Voort stood to the side of the proscenium, prodding the microphone in her hands, her giant hair wrapped tight with a bandanna. Probably biding its time for tomorrow.

Some of the Selected girls had grouped, going over some of their jobs – Torrence Whitley reviewed the setting and lighting with the scribbles on her notepad, no doubt to add to her fashion blog. Skylar Davenport scurried around the catwalk floor, checking the stage design. Elise Belmont, Avianna DeLaurence and Chiara Romani-Carriedo pointed at certain spots in the tiers. Alisa Orlov swept the wings of the stage with a broom. Maeve Reynolds hauled several boxes to backstage.

"There you are!"

Roy swivelled. Persephone burst through the crowd and stopped to face him – she smirked, still effortlessly pretty in her lavender dress.

"Your fly's not down this time, is it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."

She suppressed a grin, and braced a wooden clipboard against her arms. "Right – the outfits have arrived. They're in the back. The seamstresses are ready to have you try them on before tomorrow, so they can make final adjustments."

"Sweet," he said.

A bubble of excitement captured him suddenly – the hustle and bustle, the sweeping anticipation of such an event. The public reaction to the announcement had also piqued interest in polls. Some lucky fans of Vana Tyler could even have won tickets to see the show live, with the best seats. Roy crossed his eyes over every person. Each, buzzed with determination to finish their work and make this fashion show epic.

Roy would have fun tomorrow – and even knowing about the spy couldn't dampen his mood.

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 **A/N:** Ahah, sorry to keep you all hyped for the fashion show! I can tell you that it will definitely happen... next chapter! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed this one!

Another elimination - this time, not so pleasant. Alas, no way am I allowing Roy to have a smooth ride through this Selection. :P She was an interesting character to tackle, especially in regards to her opinion on love - my thanks to AusllyRauraR51FANINTHEWORLD for Kiersten!

And some news! Because uni is starting soon and I don't want to be writing TSaTS all the way until next summer, I've decided to bump up the release date! **Updates will come every six days!** I hope I can stick to this - and if it proves I can, I'll move it down to five. :D We'll see how it goes!

I love all reviews, favourites and follows. Thanks so much for reading and sticking with me!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: "So, by the princely powers invested in me, I name you... the Official Stage Double-Checker!"


	15. Vana Tyler's Charity Fashion Show

Roy tried to keep his nerves bottled as he ambled between the growing groups of organisers, gathering behind the curtain.

Fashion show day – and it was hectic.

As he'd suspected the day before, behind the stage was a madness of movement, and maelstrom of activity. A hub – on the left, a team of ten, contained to a booth raised on a platform, controlled panels of colourful buttons and levers. The spotlights on the catwalk, the music pounding through the speakers, and screens shining on both sides of the stage were all in their hands. Roy had never met the technical team, but if the rehearsal in the morning was anything to go by, they had organised a fantastic mechanical masterpiece. It was sure to complement the fashion.

The rest of the space on the right was dedicated to just that – clothes, make-up, hair departments, temporary dressing rooms. Mirrors with giant bulbs glimmered as make-up artists dusted Vana Tyler's cheeks, or as hair stylists fixed the kinks in Romilda's afro. Racks upon racks of dresses and suits lined the back wall, and stagehands zipped between them.

Roy spotted his clothes rack, with a number of suits wrapped in plastic protectors. The racks for the women could hardly fit next to each other, because the dresses were so ginormous and space-stealing.

Weddings, was the theme.

Really, Roy should have suspected it. Vana Tyler was most definitely a follower of the Selection gossip, and at some point – whether it was immediately post-Selection or years after it had ended – Roy would be getting married. Her fashion line, something her name was plastered on, would be getting a serious boost by having royal and celebrity models. That, and if he liked anything he wore, he'd probably come back to her for the newest designs.

Sneaky. Or, perhaps totally innocuous. Weddings were a popular theme to model, after all. He'd been hoping for beachwear or something where he could prove he _did_ have a six-pack, but… weddings would suffice.

"Your Highness," said a voice behind him.

Roy swivelled around – Rainerd Snaps, and his sister Clarity, hunched behind him and fidgeted with their bulky cameras. Rainerd had attempted a smile on his gaunt face, but Clarity didn't bother to look like she was enjoying herself. In fact, her suspicious eyes kept watch on her surroundings the entire time.

Trying to get the world's worst candid photo.

Roy really hoped no one performed any stupid stunts for Clarity to seal onto paper forever. He cleared his throat. "Rainerd… Clarity. How can I help?"

"Where will we be standing?" asked Rainerd.

"You have access to all areas, as the palace's official photographers. But… your best bet is probably the roped-off area in front of the catwalk." He smirked. "If one of the models falls, though, you'd better get out of the way."

Rainerd twiddled his thumbs, and nodded.

"Thank you, that sounds fantastic."

Behind him, Clarity snapped a photo.

"And please remember," Roy said, glaring at Clarity, "you hold exclusive rights to whatever you take until the event is televised, so _flattering_ photos only, please."

Rainerd nodded, oblivious to Roy's death stare at his sister. "Of course!" He turned to her. "Let's go set up."

Rainerd marched, whilst Clarity – sparing half an unamused glance at Roy – slunk away behind him, and melted into the crowd. Dear lord, Roy wondered why Ji-Yu kept them around. Especially Clarity, who had published those awful photos of Roy's first meeting with the Selected. Unfortunately, when Clarity Snaps wanted to publish a photo in the _Illéan Times_ , everyone was near powerless to stop her. Especially when Roy was too slow to catch her before she left to write her articles.

He was about to pick his way to his clothes rack to start getting ready, when Blair Hunter came to a grinding halt in front of him. Through following ballots, Blair was an escort for the day – taking guests to their designated seats and mingling with them – so her attire was a simple little black dress, and black heels. Her hair, dark like chocolate, was tied into a bun on her head, and her navy eyes sparkled with distress.

"Your Highness," she said by way of greeting – she frowned. "My guests have arrived."

Roy blinked. "Okay. Go escort them, then."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I've been assigned Mr and Mrs Berg."

 _Katrina's parents_. Oh. No wonder she appeared to him in silent plea. Katrina must have absorbed that stuck-up personality from someone. Still, Roy didn't have time to think about Katrina's parents – he had to sort and sign nearly everything before the show started.

"Erm... what do you want me to do about it?"

Blair's lips had pressed together, nearly in repulsion. "I've met them. They're horrible, Your Highness. I can't stand them."

This caused Roy to frown. "They're still paying guests. Your job is only to escort them to their seats."

Blair huffed. "They're complaining to me that the seats aren't comfortable, or the air is too stuffy. I'm at my wit's end." She crossed her arms. "Why isn't Katrina dealing with them? They're her parents. Better yet" – she jerked her head towards the back of the curtain – "get Katrina to escort them. She's as annoying as they are."

Roy straightened, in disbelief that Blair had said those words so freely. She was complaining about Katrina to him – as if, one, he had no idea what a menace Katrina was, and two, he could do anything about it at all. Still, the fact that she so freely disrespected her at a time Roy really didn't have time to think about it was rattled him.

Blair cocked her eyebrow at Roy. "Oh, come on. You know she's the most obnoxious person on the planet. Every Selected knows it. It's not fair that I have to escort them."

"The job and escort assignment was random. I don't really have time to reshuffle anything. Sorry," Roy said quickly, quelling the rising tension in his shoulders.

Anger crossed Blair's face. "There's plenty of time before the show, Your Highness. I'll do literally anything else."

Oh, now she was _angry_? Roy blew out a frustrated sigh, recalling the conversation he had with Sashi yesterday. Eliminating Cassia and Roxanne, and Kiersten had been different by themselves, and now Roy was going to add another emotionally-charged elimination to the mix: anger.

"You'll do as you're assigned, Lady Blair," he snapped. "And when this fashion show is over, you can insult other people all you want on your way home."

For seconds, Blair didn't understand – but then her mouth dropped open, and a dash of fire coloured her pale cheeks. "What?! But I—"

"You say they complain about everything, but now _you're_ complaining to _me_. It's not pleasant, and though I've already told you that I am _busy_ , you have ignored me. Your or my opinion of Katrina is irrelevant. So, you'll do your assigned job," he muttered, "and then leave tomorrow morning."

Blair's fists clenched and unclenched several times, before she pivoted on her heel and stormed off. Roy released the breath he was holding – well, now his mood had plummeted. But really, for her to come to him to complain… Roy could hardly believe it. Did she not have an ounce of common decency?

He shook himself off – now was a bad time to be anxious. He needed to be loose and cool. Swaggering down a catwalk required an air of fun and vanity. Now he was just piled with annoyance.

He descended the stairs, approaching the technical team's platform.

"How's the lights?" he called, if only to distract himself.

"In good condition, Your Highness!" a woman replied. "We're just doing a final testing with the microphones."

Good. Something to smile about.

He swivelled, expecting to move on to hair and make-up, but this time came face-to-face with another Selected: Camilla Daugherty. As a stagehand, she could wear what she pleased, as long as it was short and not too showy – she'd chosen a short navy dress, the fabric shaped with flowers, with a belt around her waistline. The tips of her black hair curled at the shoulders, and in flats, she was just slightly taller than Roy.

He couldn't help but frown – another Selected here to complain?

Her face was like stone, unmoving, but a hint of wariness pinched her cheeks, and she glanced towards the stage. "Your Highness," she greeted quietly, with a sketched curtsy.

"Anything I can help with?" It came out as a sigh.

She stiffened at his tone. Probably not what she was expecting before an exciting fashion show. He recollected his wan thoughts and straightened.

"Sorry – it's not you. I'm just… stressed."

"Oh," she said. "Well, I hate to add to your stress, Your Highness, but… it's quite a difficult matter." She half-turned towards the stage. "And only a hunch, too, so I might be wrong…"

At once, thoughts of the spy tickled Roy's thoughts. Yes, she was here – unless Blair Hunter had been the spy – and she was another factor to add to his list of worries.

Camilla sucked in a breath. "I think the stage is unsafe."

Roy froze. It wasn't about the spy, sure, but the very words still baffled him – and how she could reach such a conclusion, too.

"… _Unsafe_?"

"… Yes," she said. "If… if I could show you…?"

He allowed her to lead him around the front of the stage – the lights, though not operating at full capacity yet, nearly blinded him in dazzle. The semi-circle wedge tiers of seats rose around him like a coliseum. Guests had already begun to gather, but nearly half the seats were still empty, leaving spots of red between the splashes of colour. The escort Selected, noticeable in their matching black dresses, milled about between the tiers, offering champagne and smalltalk to the guests. Roy could see Chiara Romani-Carriedo stationed by a short refreshment stand, whereas Lilly Carter and Eulalia Shields lead a small group of hearing-impaired people, signing with their hands. Eulalia had even agreed to translate each dress description from Vana for them.

Roy refocused, and followed Camilla onto floor level and around the sealed area. The stage and catwalk were nearly his height.

She paused near the middle of the catwalk, and crouched ever so slightly. "If you look here" – she parted the curtain hiding the legs to reveal the naked underneath of the stage – "a small cluster of these beams are not braced."

Roy squinted. The legs of the platform were built in increments of three feet, at least. Sturdy triangular pieces of wood were inserted in the corners between the legs at the surface, providing support. But, yes, Camilla was right – her slender finger brushed support beams lacking the triangular braces.

Roy stared with growing incredulity. How had this passed regulations without construction noticing?

"How dangerous is it?" he asked, thinking about how they only had a few hours to sort such a problem before the show started.

Camilla straightened. "Quite dangerous – the braces are meant to support the legs for weight. Without it…"

"The platform can collapse?"

"Yes."

 _How_ had this gone unnoticed? He couldn't help but think, with the spy on the loose, someone had tried to sabotage the fashion show, too. It was so subtle, so unnoticeable, that it had even passed inspection.

"How do you know this?" Roy asked.

Camilla flickered her eyes towards the catwalk and back. "I'm an architect, Your Highness. I… thought to do a sweep. Just in case."

It was a good thing she did, or else someone's foot could have gone right through the wood. They'd be pulling splinters out for weeks – they very thought shuddered down Roy's spine. Why this spot? Roy thought about the catwalk schedule.

Then a pall of dark realisation hit him. _He_ was due to walk down the catwalk first – to introduce the show with Vana as well as show off the first piece from her collection. _He_ was.

That couldn't be coincidence.

He rose, too, suddenly shaking through to his bones. He couldn't fathom that the spy had so much influence as to fiddle with the plans. Maybe it was just a fault of the construction crew – a mistake that would cost them their jobs, but still a mistake.

"This is a serious oversight which I'll have to look into immediately," he said, addressing Camilla again. She had no idea what she might have helped to prevent. "Thank you for pointing this out to me."

She nodded her head, breathing a sigh of relief. "It's nothing, Your Highness."

Unless in some small world, Camilla had been the one to interfere with the platform, in order to report it to Roy and make herself look like a saviour, rather than a spy. But how could she? There'd be no way she would have access to the plans, nor the Great Ballroom, during construction, and no way she could have altered the stage yesterday or today without someone noticing.

Unless one of the crew was a rebel, too… Roy's brain began to melt at how far back this chain could rattle. There was one thing for certain, though: Camilla had saved a lot of trouble. And she thought it was nothing?

He raked a hand through his hair, which mussed his ponytail, and smiled exasperatedly. "Don't be modest. You picked up on something the crew obviously didn't." He grinned. "If you want to have a look everywhere else, you're welcome to."

Camilla let the faintest smile tug her lips for seconds before it vanished – never to be seen. She nodded. "Blair Hunter and I were going to have a look – she also has a keen eye for architecture – but I can't see her—"

Roy threw up his hands. "Oh, no! Just you, yourself and you!" He scanned his eyes over the crowd. Spotting Mr and Mrs Berg alone, with no escort, Roy sussed that Blair must have taken off without even waiting to see the results of the fashion show. "Yeah. Erm… she won't be joining you."

Camilla caught on like a spark, and her eyes widened. "Oh."

Awkward. He gulped it down like a nasty medicine, and made a dramatic show of pointing at her. "So by the princely powers invested in me, I name you… the Official Stage Double-Checker!"

She blinked. "Official… Stage Double-Checker?"

"Yes! Because apparently someone else couldn't do that job." He crossed his arms and nodded confidently. "And now I need to interrogate someone. Let me know if there's anything else you spot that is potentially dangerous."

Before she could argue – or refute that terrible title – Roy marched backstage to find the construction crew. They, after much incredulity, did in fact find a fault in the catwalk construction. Which meant the show would be delayed by another hour or so for them to fix the problem, but only an hour.

And soon, after signing off a thousand other things for inspection, Rudy accosted Roy for the final curtain check. And time to finally get ready.

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The makeshift dressing room at the back of the Great Ballroom had become chaos as the time for curtains up drew closer and closer. The suit Vana Tyler had chosen for Roy to make his first appearance in was whiter than cirrus clouds, more blinding than sunlight. As Rudy tugged and tucked for the last time, Roy stared at himself in the mirror. The lightbulbs stuck to the side shone onto his face, accentuating how pale he was – and how pale he felt.

With his hair groomed into a neat ponytail, and his cheeks so heavily dusted with make-up that his pores were non-existent, Roy really did look like he was about to get married.

It terrified him.

For the first time, he felt the repercussions of his Selection flutter through him. One of the girls in this auditorium today could be his wife, the girl he waited at the end of the aisle for. And he'd be dressed in something like this suit – white and unblemished like a new snowfall. A flower in his lapel. Nerves electric through his skin.

He had to keep looking left and right to remind himself that he wasn't getting married – only modelling its looks. And that the other girls were the same.

Vana Tyler bounded up behind him, in a very short emcee dress. Her black hair had been coiffed into a wavy bun upon her head, and a fantastic dusting of red and yellow eyeshadow above her dark eyes.

Rudy stood back to let her admire, and she reached up to pat Roy's shoulders. "Oh, you're the poster of perfection, Your Highness!" she bubbled.

"Thanks," he said. He knew he looked _good_ , but it was so good he was fooled as to the occasion. Hopefully by then, Future Roy would be more willing to turn to see his wife-to-be at the altar.

In the mirror, Roy spotted Jasper Bellini-Torres entering the dress room. He was exactly how Roy pictured Luna to be, but male. Skin a shade darker than tan, and wispy brown hair shaped into neat curls. A glint of mischievousness shone, though unlike Roy, his suit was entirely black.

They'd met at rehearsals, and Roy had to say they shared a common bond at being incredibly immature and making stupid jokes. It was great. Jasper was so different to Luna that it was hard to see how they were related at all.

"Looking good, Your Highness," Jasper said, with a wry smile. "Why, even _I_ might marry you in that."

"Pffft, don't be jelly, Jasper," teased Roy, sweeping at his white collar. If he got dirt on this, the whole world would know. "Just because no one would want to marry _you_ in _that_."

Rudy leapt forwards and swatted Roy's hands away from his pristine suit. "It's nearly time."

"Are the models ready?" Roy asked.

"Yes!" chirruped Vana – she tipped her head to behind Roy. "I want your final approval before they appear on stage!"

Roy swung around as the models poured into his dressing room.

Natasha Barron looked to be in her element, sporting an encrusted sweetheart bodice with a lacy ball gown skirt that sprung from her waist. It kissed the floor in swathes of fabric, with golden accents and hem, and she had a pair of little white gloves to match.

Ambrosia Nichols, too, looked natural – though carried a much sweeter demeanour. Her dress cut off at the knee, with a sweetheart neckline and a lace bolero. A rose, coloured damask, bloomed from her waist, and, to match, her strawberry blonde hair was dotted with tiny white flowers.

Romilda van der Voort wore a mermaid gown made to show off, cinched right down to her knees before the fabric ruffled in a long train. A fluttering blusher veil floated behind her, from a comb that dug deep into her stunning afro. Her eyeshadow, too, was designed to pop, with shades of brilliant emerald.

Then, there was the four who had no idea how to model. Yuriko, the first, asked at Vana's request, wore the plainest. It was a modest dress with simple lace, and no train and minimal decoration. She appeared to be a mere apparition, almost ghostly.

Sherlock Graves was next, the tallest besides Romilda. In usual Sherlock fashion, her wardrobe consisted of the most maddening from Vana's collection. Her dress, quite simply, looked like an explosion or a mushroom cloud – smoky coloured, bulbous around her legs and shoulder, and trailing behind her.

Tiny embroidered floral detail, like lilies, snowbells, and white buds bedecked Luna Bellini-Torres's dress, and trailed the floor. She also had a short veil that covered her face, but she'd thrown it over herself for now.

And last, but not least, Vana made final sweeps of Riley Aldaine's dress. Riley's, curled around her frame and draped around her legs like waterfalls of white fabric. Small beading hardly covered her back, too, which was typical of Riley's style. She and Vana giggled together, speaking of jokes and times no one would know.

Roy's heart quickened like the pace of a hastened drum, and the same electricity pulsated through him, crisp and fine. He was truly stunned into silence at their collective beauty – their shimmering, joyous faces, their elegant figures and exquisite dresses. His suit paled in comparison.

In that moment, he could believe – _did_ believe – he would marry someday, if his wife-to-be looked as gorgeous as they did.

"God," he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away. "You're all so beautiful."

Sherlock chuckled. Natasha grinned sheepishly. Luna cracked a smile. Ambrosia blushed furiously. Yuriko managed a small smile. Riley's demure grin fluttered.

Romilda, in her platform heels, barrelled forwards and wrapped her arms around Roy, lifting him into the air with ease.

"Oh, Roy, you absolute star. Thank you. I knew I still had it!"

Everyone laughed.

"Of course you still have it, Romilda!" Vana chanted.

"Yeah," Roy agreed, laughing in her arms. "You never _lost_ it!"

She plonked Roy back down and squeezed his shoulders. "Don't forget yourself, you handsome prince! No wonder there are twenty girls fighting for your heart, darling!"

Roy couldn't attest to that. Riley rolled her eyes, smirking.

"… Yeah, I look real swag too, right?" Jasper puffed out his chest, with a good-natured dose of teasing. Not waiting for a reply in the laughing that followed, he petted Luna's bare shoulders. "And you, sis. You look pretty good, too. Not as good as _me_ , but…"

She whacked his shoulder playfully. "Quiet, you," she said.

In that moment, Gail bounded into the dressing room and nearly ran headfirst into Natasha's dress. She stopped and squealed. "Pretty!"

Roy nearly melted at the sight of his adorable sister – wearing a cute flower girl dress. Her entire wardrobe today was flower girl dresses. One of her many tiaras crowned her plaited pigtails.

Roy knelt and opened his arms. "And here's the most beautiful girl in the world!"

She squealed again and ran in his arms, and he hoisted her up. Pristineness be damned, this was worth it.

Everyone in the room – including Rudy and Jasper – crooned at the sight. Gail absorbed their coos with a welcoming grin. "Look at me!"

Lanna appeared then, peering around the open door. Her face popped into surprise when she saw everyone in their outfits. "Oh, my, I've stepped into heaven."

Roy laughed. "Gail was too excited, right?"

Lanna laughed, tickling Gail's arm. "Always is."

Gail squealed. "Eee!"

Stagehand Avianna DeLaurence stumbled into their makeshift dressing room then, wearing a muted blue skater dress, followed by Persephone Cahill and her clipboard, who wore a beige cocktail dress – both paused for a moment to breath in the scent of stunning, and collected themselves.

"Wow, you all look great!" said Persephone.

"Amazing!" said Avianna, in her black dress, with her eyes glued to Roy.

Persephone cleared her throat. "Vana, they're ready for you."

And that meant Roy was first up to walk. He passed Gail onto Lanna. Rudy spun Roy around and made one final touch to his suit jacket.

"Are you ready?"

"Born ready," said Roy – and this time, he meant it.

Rudy nodded, smirking, but for once, not with a retort at the tip of his tongue. "Good. Be exquisite."

Vana squealed, and gripped Roy's hand. "Let's do this!"

They followed Avianna up the stage and into position on the right wing. The sound of an eager crowd breached the velvet, and set fire to Roy's heart. The terror of earlier had replaced with fountaining excitement.

Time to blow them away.

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"Hello Angeles!" cried Vana to the crowd. The ballroom burst into cheers, whoops, and applause all around. "I am Vana Tyler! Welcome to my charity fashion show! I have gathered you all here today to raise money for the Children's Association of the African Union!"

Roy clicked his heels on the wing. The first curtain was parted halfway to allow the models to walk. He couldn't see past an angle of the makeshift auditorium, but he could see a ravenous flashing of cameras, and lights of all colour popping against the second velvet curtain.

The other girls waited behind him. After Roy walked, he'd have to zip back to wardrobe, change into another suit, and walk again. And so he'd have to do this ten times. At rehearsal he'd nearly had to run to make it on time (and if one of them strayed, Vana promised to tell some bad jokes to the crowd. Riley assured everyone that this was a terrible idea).

Riley came up to Roy's side, daring to peer around him and the curtain. "Wow. Sold out."

"Don't trip, Roy," he muttered. At least, he _wanted_ to make the short speech this time.

Riley laughed, and she leant on his shoulder. He could feel her heat radiate from her – a heat that had so often mingled with his own, when they had found some alone time in the trailer bus during his tour of Illéa.

"Ah, you'll be fine. I told you that every time you went for an interview, didn't I?"

"And every interview, I nailed," said Roy, smirking. He'd nailed making out with her, too.

"Pffft, you're still as cocky as I remember," she said.

"It's my best quality."

"I'm pretty sure it's your _worst_."

Sherlock shuffled up behind them, much taller, and clasped their shoulders. "You two are so short! It's great!"

Riley swung on her heels and feigned hurt. "Being short is adorable, thank you."

Luna came up behind them. "You're an events planner, aren't you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rubbed her neck. "Hah, yeah. But, er, opposite to fashion shows and happy things." Her grin was crooked. "I mostly organise funerals."

Roy nearly choked.

" _Funerals_?!" Luna echoed.

Riley stifled a laugh. "God, this must be a change."

"Oh, absolutely. You should never invest in funerals, either." Sherlock waggled her fingers. "They're a _dying_ business."

Roy slapped a hand across his mouth to stop him from laughing. Luna blew out a quiet laugh, and Riley grounded her teeth together in the strangest facial expression to stop a giggle squirming free.

Sherlock grinned evilly. She prodded Roy's shirt. "Yeah. I mean, it's pretty… _white collar work_."

Roy's stomach twisted in laughter, something rumbling deep within his throat. He had to fight to keep it down.

"—now you'll all join me in welcoming His Royal Highness, Prince Roy!"

From the left wing, Avianna threw out her hands. "Go go go, Roy!" she hissed.

Riley shoved Roy out onto the stage – Roy staggered, the light blinding, but recovered, trying to put that stupid joke out of his head. Such a bad idea to be telling jokes before he had to compose himself and speak.

He cut his amusement off, compartmentalised his mind, and breathed in the crowd. The blackout blinds had done their work to darken everything beyond the stage, and Roy had trouble picking out facial features in the eager audience. They clapped and cheered, and Roy twirled in his suit before taking the microphone from Vana. Rainerd and Clarity snapped their photos, eager for blood in the most photogenic form, and spotlights focused on him.

He bowed, and rose – then, spotting a seating box in the middle tier, he saw Merrick and Ji-Yu circled by a number of guards, waving at him. Eleanor Cahill was below the box, clapping politely at the antics. The escorts and most of the unneeded stagehand Selected had their own private box too, on the left tier, and they howled with excitement.

"Good afternoon, Illéa, and welcome to my humble home!" His voice bounced off every wall. "I hope you'll join me tonight in enjoying the show! Every ticket sold and every refreshment purchased, combined with a third of each dress purchase you make through phone tonight, will go straight to the Children's Association of the African Union – a worthy cause indeed!" He twirled again, egging the crowd. "So, without further ado—"

Vana snatched Roy's microphone from his hand. "—enjoy the show!"

Roy began to walk.

One foot in front of the other, adding extra swing to his hips. Rainerd and Clarity snapped their cameras perhaps a thousand times, and the crowd _oo_ 'd and _ah_ 'd as Roy halted at the end of the catwalk – so close he could sweat on the first row of seats – and struck some poses.

He could see Merrick laughing as Roy stuck out his bottom or flung his hands into the air, and Ji-Yu with her hands plastered to her face, red with equal embarrassment and amusement. Their son. Roy didn't care – he was having fun. He winked at the cameras and turned on his loafer heels, striding back down.

Vana rambled behind him, no doubt words ingrained into her memory. "And here, our lovely Prince Roy models a chic slim cut Old Illéan style suit, flat-front trousers, waistcoat, shirt and tie, all in the blanche colour variant. The thin shoulder pads give him an elegant, softer frame. A classic indeed!"

The stage didn't bend underneath him. The stage crew had done their work bracing the catwalk, thought still, Roy couldn't help an inward exhale when he passed the spot without caving into the wood. Camilla was probably breathing a sigh of relief somewhere, backstage.

As Roy exited, Riley jumped out in her flowing dress, passing a wink to him as they exchanged places. When he reached the safety of the left wing, Avianna patted his back.

"Good job, Roy," she spoke, with a hearty grin – then, she pointed madly downstage. "Now, costume change! Go go _go_!"

And so, Roy leapt into a speed-walk to his wardrobe. Rudy and a handful of maids were there to help him undress and redress him into a maroon suit. So the cycle would continue.

As he modelled his maroon suit, instead reining in his mad poses into something more appropriate, he noticed something strange in the tiers. A guard leant down to Ji-Yu's level and whispered into her ear.

Roy didn't let this faze him, and he strode back to change again. But on his third revolution of the stage, Ji-Yu and Merrick had disappeared, leaving only two guards on duty to watch over their lonely box.

Why?

He strode back down the catwalk, passing Riley, and held his flighty grin until he was safely behind the curtain. Then the curiosity burnt through his system, and the seed of worry sprouted deep within his gut. Why would his parents abandon his fashion debut?

Roy made his way back to his dressing room, for the fourth change. Rudy, however, was missing, and the maids worked hurriedly to redress him.

"Where's Rudy?"

One shrugged. "A guard found him, muttered something, and they disappeared together."

Roy twisted his lips – an odd gesture for Rudy to abandon him.

Not for long.

Rudy barged into the dressing room with Officer Durante in tow. The fun and lively atmosphere of the fashion show bounced off him, and he radiated a black corona of worry.

"Roy, you have to come now," Rudy muttered, waving away the maids and yanking off Roy's half-on jacket.

The seed of worry sprung into a tree, its gnarly roots sinking into his veins. "What? Why?"

Rudy glanced at Durante – ever the faceless being – and back to Roy.

"Augustus Teakwood dropped off a package. They found the saboteur of the dinner," he said. "He's in a holding room right now, and… he's asking for you."

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 **A/N:** Le gasp! The saboteur appears? What could he possibly want with Roy?! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

So the winners of the fashion show poll were Sherlock Graves, Luna Bellini-Torres and Riley Aldaine! As you can see, I tried to give them a small interaction with one another, just so you readers choosing them wasn't for background decoration. How will it effect a chain of events? Hmm... you'll have to wait and see... ;) There was another elimination, too! All my thanks to P1Hunger-Games-Lover for Blair Hunter! A charming character, but not right for Roy, I didn't think!

 **A new poll is live on my profile** (you need to be on desktop to view it)! You won't see the results for quite a few chapters buuuut I like to be prepared :D I will close it a week from now, on the 7th of September!

I've been meaning to ask, who is your favourite Selected so far? Leave your comments in a review! And, of course, I love favourites and follows as well.

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: "You never pick Mexican. Mexican... picks you."


	16. Excuses

It was no trouble for Roy to slip out of the backdoor of the Great Ballroom, abandoning all thoughts and all threads of the fashion show, to head towards the holding room of the Midknight dinner saboteur. The sunlight that had pierced the clouds settled into a rich dusk, with the pavements consuming the slivers of moonlight. Following on Rudy and Officer Durante's heels, Roy shut out the lights, cheers and sparkle of Vana's show, distanced through corridors.

Just like that, Roy's mood had plummeted from innocent joy to a dying flame, snuffed by an avalanche of anxiety and anger.

Rudy and Officer Durante were steps ahead, whispering to one another. They crossed over another hallway, before coming face-to-face with Ji-Yu, Merrick, advisor Gemima Chi, and two more guards. They, too, had lost the whimsical sense of fun the fashion show had given them – traded for something more serious, something grave, as if playing the chess pieces of their sovereign.

"Captain Delacroix is waiting for us," said Ji-Yu. Elouan Delacroix – the Captain of the Guard. A man who only appeared from his office hub in the downstairs levels of the palace in times of dire need. Like now.

"He's here? Really?" Roy said, hardly believing it. "The saboteur?"

Merrick squeezed Roy's shoulder. "Yes. Augustus eventually identified the worm in the broadcast, and found that, coincidentally, his technician had gone missing. He'd booked a flight for New Asia. Augustus brought him here for questioning."

He'd tried to _flee_ , this saboteur, this Southern Rebel. Living right in the shadows of the Midknight Country Club, festering like a fungus. No doubt, when he'd heard that Roy and Merrick were coming to one of their dinners, he'd taken full advantage of it.

Roy wondered if Walter Wolanski knew of this development.

"He's asking for _me_?"

"You are definitely _not_ allowed to see him," said Ji-Yu. "Whatever he has to say, he can say to Delacroix."

Roy turned to Rudy. "Please return to the fashion show and apologise to Vana and the others for my absence," he said. "Tell them… I had a bad taco."

Rudy bowed. "Of course." He dashed off.

Officer Durante took his place at Roy's side, silent as a lake on a windless day. Ji-Yu, Gemima and the guards took off, and Roy, Merrick and Durante followed. They dipped three flights of stairs, and walked straight through the palace until they reached a wing Roy had hardly ever set foot in.

The Shell Wing.

Guards posted at the door let them pass through, and immediately the neglect was obvious to Roy. Frames with cobwebs, dust collecting in the corners, and the chandeliers burning through dirt from their disuse. It was the palace's smallest wing, and a place Ji-Yu and Merrick had forbidden Roy, or anyone, to set foot in. At a young age, Roy had never questioned it – just accepted it.

No wonder the saboteur was taken here. A wing of the palace no one would want to tread. It looked thoroughly abandoned. A nautical motif throughout the hallways had once spruced the walls with navy and whites stripes, glass bottles and model boats on the windowsills, and paintings of harbours and ship wheels as wall ornamentation. But the paint was stripping off, the bottles and models were cracked and chipped, and the paintings and wheels were torn and rusting.

Roy followed them, through one more corridor, until they were greeted by an unusual fork – one hallway going another staircase downwards, and another going straight ahead. With no windows, Roy had no idea where he was in relation to the rest of his home.

"This way," the guard said, guiding them through a staircase that could be a spider's nest. Roy glanced quickly at the other route – wondering where it went – before following the group.

They came to a dank and thin, windowless corridor that Roy could only liken to a row of prison cells.

Though much more comfortable, it was obvious the low-ceilinged room was meant for interrogation and war prisoners from many years past. Fitting two people side-by-side would be difficult, so Roy allowed Merrick to go first, and slipped behind him, with Durante taking the rear. The doors were made from steel, opened by authorisation code.

Gemima typed in a code, and the group piled into a brightly lit room, the panels harsh against Roy's eyes. Security cameras whirred in the corners, and a large double-way mirror revealed a second room, a dim interrogation chamber – with a man chained to the table.

A Southern Rebel, in flesh and blood and bone.

Roy stared, for the longest time. In his textbooks, the Southern Rebels seemed like an organisation so far from his own, small reality, that it was easy for him to pretend they didn't exist. Even after Walter Wolanski revealed himself on the camera, they lacked physical presence in Roy's life.

But now, this man was proof of their existence. No longer far enough away for Roy to ignore.

He didn't look like anyone out of the ordinary. Adorned in a long-sleeved shirt and chafed jeans, he tapped the metal table with his grubby nails, and glued his attention to the floor.

Two guards in front of the door to the room, who had waited for Roy and co. to appear, bowed with respect. The first, Officer Landon – Merrick's personal guard, with hair blond enough to match. And, wearing the red guard's uniform with silver cufflinks to match his equally red hair and trimmed beard, and a gold medal denoting his rank, the other guard, Captain Delacroix, handed a file of documents to Ji-Yu.

"Mr Jordan Iscariot," he said, his voice deep and foreboding. Worthy of captain. "Twenty-nine. Technician. Graduated _cum laude_ in computer science. Unmarried, no children. A raid of his apartment has shown Southern Rebel propaganda hidden in a safe, plus evidence of email contact with what appears to be one of his superiors in the Southern Rebels – you'll see them in the file."

Roy didn't need to see. He could hear Ji-Yu and Merrick gasp, passing them between each other and Gemima.

Roy approached the window, careful not to touch the glass as if Iscariot could hear his every movement. "He tampered with the broadcast feed?" Roy said, his voice small.

"Yes, Your Highness," said Delacroix. "I thought perhaps either Your Highness or His Majesty Merrick recognised him?"

Roy inhaled the man's look. So unassuming, very much like someone who didn't want to be noticed, didn't want to be seen. He wasn't recognisable, but the longer he looked – the longer Roy stared at the face of his enemy and absorbed the sickly figure and gaunt face – the angrier the stirring in Roy's stomach became.

Merrick, too, looked for a long time, but shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't think I saw him at all that evening."

"Neither," Roy bit out.

"He must have stayed behind the scenes," said Delacroix. "Durante. Recognise him?"

"No, captain, sir," said Durante.

"I see." Ji-Yu closed the file and handed it back to Delacroix. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Yes. We attempted to glean basic information, but…" his gaze slid to Roy's. "He has refused to speak, only asking for His Highness."

Roy's stomach flipped. Why?

"The only thing he can _ask_ for is a thorough caning," growled Ji-Yu. "Jun will _not_ talk to him."

Delacroix nodded, not at all fazed by Ji-Yu's hard tone. If there was one man who could stand it, save Merrick, it was Delacroix.

"Find out who his superior is. I want answers," Ji-Yu demanded. "I don't care how you do it, get them."

Delacroix nodded. He glanced at one of the officers, and together they entered the room.

Iscariot's head flew up, and he drank in the faces of his interrogators. Then, he sneered. "Where is Prince Roy?" His voice fizzled through speakers connecting the interrogation chamber to the interrogation room lobby, allowing Roy and co. to hear everything spoken, every whisper of a threat.

Delacroix seated himself opposite him, taking his time to scrape his bulky frame into the tiny metal seat. He opened the same file, plucking papers Roy hadn't read, and carefully laid them out for Iscariot to mull on.

"These emails mention correspondence with someone named _Newton's Wife_ ," Delacroix spoke calmly. Obviously a codename of some sort, unlikely to actually be the wife of someone called Newton. "Who is Newton's Wife?"

"I want to speak with Prince Roy," replied Iscariot, breaking no sweat.

Roy's lungs coiled, and a deep wave of fear rolled in his gut. Why did this man want to speak with him? What could he possibly say that Roy didn't know already, that Roy needed to hear?

"You will not be speaking to His Highness," Delacroix said. "You won't be speaking to anyone but myself until you answer my question."

Iscariot sneered, an ugly beast enveloped in shadow.

"Then I won't be speaking at all."

Ji-Yu growled some choice words behind Roy. Roy wanted to echo them.

 _Why_?

Delacroix continued to battle him with questions, asked calmly and then not so, but Iscariot wouldn't budge. He remained silent all the way until Delacroix made to give up and leave the room.

"Prince Roy," he said.

Delacroix paused, if only to indulge Iscariot for a moment. "And what could you possibly want to say to His Highness?"

Iscariot's snigger could dull the stars in the sky. "The truth."

 _The truth_.

A shiver skidded down Roy's spine.

Delacroix and the guards exited with frustrated frowns, and the door clanged behind them. Ji-Yu approached the glass, looking like she would pound on it, smash through to throttle his neck, but only glowered at Iscariot's tinted figure through the other side.

"I'm afraid this approach will not glean answers from him," said Delacroix.

Ji-Yu muttered, with a vicious baring of her teeth, "Then change your approach." She pointed at Iscariot through the glass. "This man thinks he holds the best hand of cards because he refuses to talk to anyone but my son. So switch your approach, captain, and _get me answers_."

Delacroix and the other guards nodded, and Ji-Yu swept her dress and stormed from the room. Merrick hurried after her, and Roy, deciding it best that he didn't want to see what _change_ Delacroix would make to his interrogation, followed after with Durante.

Merrick caught Ji-Yu in the staircase. "Are you all right, honey?"

Ji-Yu halted, her sigh serrated. "I'm fine." She turned to Roy. "I'm sorry, if that distressed you, son."

Roy ascended the staircase back into the Shell Wing. "It distresses me more knowing I'm missing the fashion show, Mother. Don't worry." And though he did feel more ill than he ever had, he didn't want his mother knowing it.

Durante stiffened at Roy's side. "Officer Landon and I will await any updates on the matter."

"Of course," said Merrick, who sighed as well. "What an awful thing this man is. Truly, awful."

Roy couldn't agree more.

"Let's go back to the fashion show," Roy suggested – Merrick brightened.

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Take our minds off this situation."

Ji-Yu waved at Merrick. "I'd like to talk to Jun, if neither of you mind." She glanced at Merrick. "Alone."

The spy. This had to be about the spy.

Merrick frowned. "I hope you're not thinking about letting him…"

Ji-Yu shook her head. "No – goodness gracious, no. I just… need to talk with him." She smiled. "Enjoy the fashion show, Merry. I'll catch up."

Merrick wavered, unsure about whether to leave. The side fighting for fashion fun must have won, as he nodded his head towards them and retraced the corridor with Officer Landon. Ji-Yu looked at Durante next.

"We'll only be a second, officer."

Durante nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty." He moved down the corridor, and stood a good distance away that he definitely couldn't hear their discussion.

Roy capped his nerves and stared with anticipation at Ji-Yu. He spoke in Korean, if only because he was paranoid Durante had super-hearing. " _Let me guess. You want me to talk to Iscariot_."

Ji-Yu's hands clasped together, and for a moment, Roy could pretend she hadn't just implied that she wanted him to sit in front of a crazed rebel in order to gain their answers. But she did – and it was written in her eyes.

She wanted that truth Iscariot promised.

" _He refuses to talk_ ," she spoke softly. " _I doubt physical pressure will convince him to talk, either. These types of people will not bend, no matter how much you fight. So… yes, if you're willing_."

Roy's mind battled with decision. Talk to Iscariot. Don't talk to Iscariot. What _truth_ he even have to say? What could this rebel possibly tell him that would warrant his utter silence, warrant a beating from Delacroix and his men? The very thought sent spindles of fear skittering through Roy's veins; the image of the door swinging open to mould their two rooms together, even for a moment, frightened him like whispered cackles in the dark.

He didn't want to talk to Iscariot, the man who thrust his life in danger.

" _So you lied to Dad_ ," he ended up saying, if only to take his mind off his nightmarish thoughts.

Ji-Yu tensed. " _If this man has the answers we need, then our best bet is to put you in front of him and have him talk. He's chained, and you'll have guards present_."

" _You're ignoring my statement, Mother_ ," Roy said. " _You lied to Dad._ Again."

Ji-Yu hissed, though there was pain shaking her bones. " _Yes, I lied to your father again. Don't think I_ enjoy _doing so, Jun._ "

" _Why, though?_ " said Roy. " _Why bother?_ "

" _Because if this man has information on the spy, I don't want him blabbing it to your father, and adding another burden to his shoulders,_ " she said sharply. " _If Iscariot has answers on the Southern Rebel organisation, and you're the only person he will address, you're going to have to be the one who extracts that information from him_."

Guilt pillaged Roy, deep and unyielding. " _Lying to Dad about the spy is one thing, but lying to Dad about putting me in danger—_ "

" _Your life is_ already _in danger, Jun! The spy amongst the Selected is already a threat to you!_ " she snapped. Then, regaining some composure, she drank in a breath. " _The interrogation will not be dangerous, regardless. You will have guards with you. Iscariot would have to break his hands to free himself from those restraints, and before he could harm you either Delacroix or Durante would shield you._ "

Yet, Roy was unconvinced. He foraged his brain, certain there was _nothing_ Iscariot had to say to him, truth or none. That he didn't want to give such a man the satisfaction. Whether he was spoken to or beaten, Ji-Yu would have to find her answers some other way.

" _I don't want to do it_ ," he said.

" _You_ don't _—?_ " Ji-Yu said, surprised. Then, her nostrils flared. " _For our country_ —"

" _No. I don't. What about_ me _?_ " Roy snapped. " _Don't_ I _matter in this scenario_?"

"Of course you matter!" Ji-Yu snapped back, so quickly she'd spoken in English. She switched back to Korean. " _Selfishly, you matter more to me than this country ever will. But, right now, the answers this will give us matter more than our damaged pride_."

Roy grounded his teeth together, and it crackled in his skull. " _Then the country will have to get answers another way, because I am not going in front of that— that_ monster."

Ji-Yu took a step back, perhaps from instinct. The room stilled with their conversation. The space between them seemed to lengthen, a chasm collapsing at the edges.

Then, she whispered, " _You are afraid of what he has to say_?"

When Roy dug deep, found the root of the problem – yes. He was afraid. He was terrified, about what this man had to say to him, about him, about his life and country, about the truth of the situation. He was terrified that he would hear a repeat of the things Walter Wolanski said, that night at the dinner.

He was terrified that he would come out from that interrogation room with more burden on his shoulders than he could bear.

" _I'm not going in, Mother. Final_."

He swerved on his heels and marched down the corridor, ignoring Ji-Yu's pleaded calls for further discussion, to where Durante had turned very, very still. "Take me back, officer." His English emitted with harsh vowels and syllables.

Durante nodded, wordlessly, escorting Roy back to the fashion show. Roy didn't look back to see if Ji-Yu had followed him, or had returned to that interrogation room to watch Delacroix beat some answers from Iscariot.

He picked his way back to the wardrobe department behind the stage auditorium in the Great Ballroom. Waving away the seamstresses, and everyone else, Roy spent the rest of the fashion show staring at his pallor reflection in the mirror of lightbulbs.

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Roy could hear the roars of the crowd of the finishing show even after he undid his ponytail and clasped his hands to his ears.

Anxious thoughts seemed to plunge deep into his mind, no matter how hard he concentrated on fighting them off. Roy wasn't usually an anxious person – heck, he considered himself rather positive most of the time – but the arrival of the spy in his Selection had only tripled the weight that buried into his ribs. And now Jordan Iscariot, rebel right down to the blood he spat, would add another ingredient to his disastrous recipe.

No wonder Ji-Yu didn't tell Merrick. If this was how it would feel to turn away from your country in order to keep demons at bay, then Roy was glad that Merrick didn't know. He knew telling Merrick about it wouldn't make him feel better, anyway, so there was some good side to keeping it all a secret.

If Jordan Iscariot never talked, unless Roy was to see him, would they ever find out whom he answered to? The next piece in the ever-changing puzzle? Who Newton's Wife was? What truth Iscariot wanted to share?

He ran a hand through his hair. He had plunged face-first into some seriously hot doo-doo.

A soft knock on the door caused him to shot to stand. "Yes?" he called.

"It's Vana, Your Highness!" she called. "Can I come in?"

How was he going to explain why he'd abandoned her big show halfway through? He wondered what lie they'd had to feed the audience, too.

Vana tiptoed in, easing the door shut. Because his makeshift dressing room was really only four flimsy walls, and no ceiling, the closed door didn't help to drown out the noise from the catwalk, nor did it disguise his words to anyone listening with their ears pressed to the plywood.

She'd changed from her short emcee dress to something far simpler Roy could ever imagine her designing. In fact, it looked more like a white cocktail party dress, barely fluttering above her dark knees. Her black hair had also miraculously changed shape, instead curled into two buns.

"How are you feeling, Your Highness?" she cooed.

"Much better," he said, though it wasn't earnest.

She frowned, flapping over his jacket-less suit and retying his hair. "Oh, you're looking rather pale." Then she dropped to a whisper so low, Roy could barely hear her. "Don't worry, tacos give _everyone_ a bad stomach."

Roy opened his mouth, and closed it again – he'd told Rudy to tell them he had a bad taco. Oh, god, of all things, why did he have to say a _bad taco_? His cheeks singed away the pallor. At any other time, he'd probably find this whole situation funny – hilarious, even. He drew a smile from some part of himself that still laughed despite himself. "I picked a bad day to have Mexican, didn't I?"

She clapped her hands together. "You never pick Mexican. Mexican… picks you. Besides," she grinned, "better you address it here, backstage, than on the catwalk."

He didn't even want to know where her train of thought was going there. "Is the show over?"

"Nearly! I'm about to make a closing statement, and we need all the models for a bow!" She swirled her heeled foot onto the ground. "So, if you're feeling better…"

Roy had already done huge disservice by skipping half of it, missing his Selected modelling and mingling with the audience. Why did the spy take so much of his time and fun?

The spy would not be responsible for stealing any more of his youth. Any more of today's show. "Sure. Can't miss that, can we?"

"But if you do start to feel a little… erm, _stormy_ downstairs, you feel free to run to the nearest bathroom."

To give her credit, Vana was taking the Taco Excuse rather well. Still, it didn't stop Roy nearly slamming his head against the wall. _Why, dammit, why_?!

Quickly throwing on the grey jacket to match his suit, he followed a chipper Vana from his dressing room towards the stage wings, where the other models were lining up. Romilda and Gail were currently on the catwalk – Romilda making elaborate gestures to Gail, Gail making cute kissy faces to the crowd, and the crowd crooning unstoppably.

Sherlock slapped her hand on Roy's back. She'd changed from her fourth dress to something far less crazy – actually something a normal person might wear to a wedding. The smirk riding her flawless cheeks, however, was not.

"A bad _taco_?"

At that moment, Roy knew he'd never live it down.

"Have you ever tried a taco, Sherlock? Do you understand that it's the equivalent to edible poison?"

"Sure," she said, the smirk steeling, "but I wouldn't ever eat one before a _fashion show_."

Riley appeared to pop from nowhere, also with a hand clapped over her mouth. If she smeared the lipstick, it didn't matter – only that she stopped herself from uncontrollably laughing at Roy's taco incident.

"You really _don't_ change, do you?" She chuckled. "You're a brave man, Roy."

Luna, behind her, leant coolly against the side of the stage, with a mirthful smile. "Why would you have tacos before a show?"

Roy pouted. "I don't have to explain my nutrition decisions to any of you."

"Guess he doesn't want to…" Sherlock began, " _ta-co_ ' _bout_ it."

Roy blistered into a bright red and a laugh before he could help himself.

Riley erupted into a fit of giggles. "Sherlock!"

"Oh, my god," Luna said, unable to curb her laugh.

On the other wing, Vana stepped out in the spotlight. "And that is all we have today, ladies and gentlemen!"

"Don't have an _accident_ on stage now, Your Highness," Sherlock grinned with menacing playfulness. Roy continued to burn bright red, and he hid his face in his hands. _Why, why, why_?!

"Please welcome to the stage, our wonderful models!"

Roy stumbled out onto the stage again, with Sherlock, Riley, and Luna. Yuriko, Jasper, Natasha and Ambrosia appeared from the other wing, with Romilda and Gail forming their line down the catwalk. Together, they clasped hands – Roy feeling a spark of warmth from Sherlock's, and the tiny, sweaty palms of Gail's – and bowed in unison. The crowd cheered with delight, soaking in their outfits and calling out their favourites' names – they, thankfully, didn't seem to notice Roy, Sherlock, Riley and Luna all attempting to shoo away the giggles. The other Selected girls howled in the left tier, their hard work coming to its peak.

The hot air battled with Roy's suit, and he tried to purge the joke from his mind. The crowd's infinite joy streamed through him, lightening his mood. At least it had helped him to forget about Iscariot, skulking downstairs, waiting for him to show so that he could spill his universal wisdom onto Roy.

Vana nocked the microphone again. "A big thank you to our models! Riley Aldaine, Natasha Barron, Jasper Bellini-Torres, Luna Bellini-Torres, Sherlock Graves, Ambrosia Nichols, Yuriko Sato," she paused for breath, "Romilda van der Voort, Her Royal Highness, Princess Gail, and of course, His Royal Highness, Prince—"

The roar of the crowd, the thundering atmosphere of the makeshift auditorium, could not disguise the sounds of a gunshot in the distance.

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 **A/N:** Just when you thought one cliffhanger was over, another springs up, fufufufu... ;) Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Quick reminder, **the poll ends tomorrow**! If you haven't voted yet, you have a day to input your answers before it closes!

As always, I do love reading your opinions! What do you think is happening? Why does Iscariot want to talk with Roy? Leave a review! Favourites and follows also immensely appreciated :D

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: "You'd make a better pot plant than actor."


	17. The Truth

The gunshot sounds reverberated throughout the Great Ballroom until every last pair of ears had heard it.

Then the panic erupted. Screaming, hectic dashing for the doors – and Roy stood paralysed and unable to feel an emotion in the sudden hollowness that devoured him.

A _gunshot_. How?!

Had Iscariot escaped the prison cellblock in the abandoned Shell Wing? Had Delacroix's team failed to keep him restrained in the chamber with the two-way mirror? Had someone broke him out?

Questions cascaded onto Roy, and he swerved his eyes to meet the box in the middle tier of seats. Guards had swarmed Merrick, and were directing him towards the nearest exit. More guards spilt from the exit doors to reassure the audience, to deviate them to the nearest passage.

To hide in the underground safe rooms until the threat was dealt with.

Durante sped onto the stage, along with several more guards.

"Your Highnesses!" he called, urgency bursting from his tone. "We must get you all to safety! Now!"

The line of models broke apart, and Sherlock's hand slipped from Roy's as the guards directed them backstage, towards another secret passage and safety. Roy didn't dare let go of Gail's tiny hand, who had clasped herself to Roy's leg as if a beacon of safety in the chaos.

And he held tight to her.

"Come on!" Romilda called to him, still statuesque on the catwalk. She gently pushed Roy into some form of motion, following behind the stream of stagehands also following behind. Gail clung to his trousers, but she knew she had to move, too.

He quickly stole a glance towards her. It didn't look like she knew what was happening, and why, her brown eyes sparkling with confusion, but at least understood that they had to leave now. Without another word, Roy scooped her into his arms and kept her head level with his shoulder.

"It's all right, Gail," he crooned. "We'll be okay."

" _Appa_ —" she gurgled – he could feel his suit shoulder soak up her forming tears, and she slung her arms around his neck. She probably had excellent view of Merrick running in the opposite direction with the audience.

" _Appa_ will be fine," he said.

Straggling behind, Luna ushered him along, down the staircase of the stage and through the backdoor. Roy knew the layout of the palace like the back of his hand, and he knew exactly which passage they would take and where it would lead.

Gail buried her face into Roy's shoulder, and he felt himself leaden at the gesture. "I want _Omma_!"

 _Ji-Yu_. The last time Roy had seen her, she was left in the hallways of the Shell Wing, calling for him to come back. Calling for him to see sense, and to talk to Iscariot. Had she gone back?

If Iscariot had escaped and somehow acquired a gun… Ji-Yu… his mother…

He wanted to stop, to hand Gail to Romilda and run towards the Shell Wing, but he knew he had to comfort Gail. Sudden bursts of fear crawled up his spine, and he prayed to any and every god that she was all right, that she was unharmed and safe.

He clutched Gail tighter. " _Omma_ is all right, peanut. She's okay, too."

Durante, leading the pack, held out his hand – for them to stop – then, once he'd checked the corridor ahead with the barrel of his gun pointed forwards, he led them to a small alcove opposite a window into one of the courtyards. A tiny statue of one of Roy's ancestors – he guessed Gregory Illéa, with a muscular body – stood elegant, chipped from fine, white clay. Durante felt around the base, activating a switch that swung the alcove wall open inwards. The deep, dark depths of the secret tunnel greeted them.

"Inside. Now." Kindness was never Durante's forte, but it was even less so now.

Roy and Durante ushered everyone in first, before Roy trotted after them, careful not to scare Gail. Another guard, ahead, lit the small lanterns on the wall, smothered in so many cobwebs Roy could hear them burn. The orange flames allowed him to see the dust that swirled up with each of their descending steps. Dirt stained the models' wedding dresses, ruining them with each sweep they took of the wall.

Gail began to cry, her soft sobs muffled against his jacket. Roy patted her back and clung tightly to her. Then, like the lighting of the lanterns, an idea came to him.

"Hey, peanut," he said. "Let's play a game."

She sniffled, but raised her head. "A game?"

"Yeah. Let's count the lanterns on the wall, until we get to the big room. Shall we do that?"

She sniffled again, but released of her arms and pointed. "One."

He sighed to himself. Gail would be okay. He nudged his head towards the next lantern on the opposite wall, spiralling with the staircase. "Two."

They continued to count, their hushed voices bouncing from the silent walls, until they reached the large room carved from the stone foundation of the palace. It wasn't nearly as welcoming as Roy had hoped – and he'd been down here only once or twice. More like the prison cells in the Shell Wing, a cave aged in neglect, so much so that their footprints left deep depressions in the dust like snow.

Lanterns dotted around, with a large, dead lantern in the very centre, hanging low with the ceiling. There were some loose velvet chairs, looking like they'd been ripped from the auditorium and left to mould for a few thousand years. A single table, creaking with their rabble, had an old vase and a pack of chewed playing cards.

The other guards waved them all in, Durante holding the rear, before shutting the two doors in the staircase and barring the second. Another passageway led deeper into the depths, and would eventually lead to an outhouse far in the palace's gardens. For a real escape.

"Thirty-four," Gail said, with less gurgle. She pointed to the lanterns in the room. "Thirty-five, thirty-six…"

The room burst with anxious people – the hairdressers, seamstresses, make-up artists, and technicians were all present, along with him and the Selected models. They parted for Roy, allowing him to ease Gail into one of the mouldy chairs, after Persephone swept the dust away. Gail held Roy's arm as he meant to stand away.

"Jun," she pleaded.

How could he not stay? But he needed answers from Durante. And fast.

"I'll just be talking to Officer Durante, over there" – he made a dramatic show of pointing to the guard, who double-checked the locks and swept his vigilant glower over the other passageway entrance – "so I'll still be here."

She let out a whine, but relented, her eyes glued to him in a sad pout.

"I'll be right back. Look, the girls can keep you company."

The Selected that were on the stage and backstage at the time – Riley, Sherlock, Luna, Ambrosia, Natasha, Avianna, Persephone and Yuriko – plus Romilda and Jasper, crowded around Gail with bright, comforting smiles.

"We should play another game!" Sherlock encouraged, and Roy could hear how hard she was trying to keep the fear from her voice, heavy with sweetness.

"Yes," agreed Ambrosia. She scooted closer to Gail's seat, with a shy smile – Roy could see her shaking, too. "What's the next adventure for Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms?"

Romilda came to sit next to Gail, too, no doubt smudging her dress with the floor, and she placed a hand on Gail's. Gail's legs swung over the edge, and Roy knew, by that gesture alone, she was already cheered up. With the girls decked in the fanciest wedding outfits, it was amusing to see them cram into a small space to comfort Gail. They would forgo all they knew about keeping their dresses clean and stuff their ginormous swathes of tulle and lace to keep her company.

It was sweet.

He could only hope his other Selected, Merrick, Ji-Yu, Rudy and the rest of the audience were all right, too.

Roy tore his eyes away, and approached Durante. Durante stood diligently by the door – his gun holstered, for now. No doubt, if he heard any noise, he would have the barrel aimed at the door crack in a second. The rest of the guards were also unflinchingly silent, on their toes.

"What the hell's going on?" Roy whispered.

"Gunfire," replied Durante, sheens of sweat veiling his bronze skin, "coming from the West Wing."

The West Wing, where all the offices were located. The complete opposite side of the Shell Wing and far from the Great Ballroom. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or not. He steeled himself.

"Who fired the shot? Was it Iscariot?"

"It wasn't Iscariot. I've had confirmation that he is still in his cell, with guards."

Roy allowed himself a moment of relief. It wasn't Iscariot. That, at least, could help him breathe.

Still, if the shooter wasn't Iscariot, then who was it? Had the shot been a warning, or did it have a target?

Was someone… dead?

Roy had to keep himself together, to stop himself from grabbing his hair and pulling with frustration, with fear. Surely it wasn't coincidence that they brought Iscariot in for questioning, and not half an hour later, a gunman was sighted in the palace? He didn't like the odds, which always seemed to stack against him.

"The gunman's identity has not yet come to light. I believe he is in stand-off with the guards in West." He tapped his walkie-talkie, also glued to his waist like a lifeline. "The queen has put out a direct order to have him apprehend, and not killed."

 _The queen_. "My mother. Is she all right?"

"Yes, sir," said Durante.

Roy heaved a sigh, not caring how loud. His mother was all right. And by the guards warding Merrick, his dad was okay, too.

His family were safe.

Durante continued. "I've patched into the other guards, and told them you and Princess Gail are safe, as well. All I can do now is wait for an all-clear."

The walkie-talkie buzzed, filling the cold silence with a crunching static. Durante snatched it from his waist.

"Hello?" Roy immediately recognised Merrick's voice. "Erm, hello, I'm sorry – I'm commandeering Officer Lan— er, I mean, _Acre's_ walkie-talkie. This is Eagle One. I need to speak with Duct Tape. Over."

Durante raised the walkie-talkie to his lips. "Duct Tape, reporting. Over."

 _Duct Tape_ was Durante's code name? Not the most flattering.

Merrick spoke, harried. "Where are Baby Eagle One and Baby Eagle Two? I need to speak with them. Now. I need to—"

Roy grabbed the walkie-talkie from Durante's hand. Etiquette be damned. "Dad? I'm here. We're fine. Gail's fine. We're all unharmed."

"Son! Oh, thank god," Merrick sighed, also relinquishing the walkie-talkie speak. "Is Gail crying? Does she need me to reassure her?"

Roy glanced over to Gail – she seemed to be in higher spirits, giggling at something Riley was saying. She'd abandoned her chair, sitting amongst the folds of white fabric of the girls' dresses. Vana spoke next, making elaborate hand gestures in tandem with the words pouring from her mouth in a magnificent tale.

"I think Gail is fine. Hearing you might cause her to cry," he spoke, hushed.

Merrick seemed to breathe another sigh of relief. "As long as she's okay. You're not harmed?"

"No, we're all fine. I'm okay. Shaken…" it took all of his effort not to tremor at that moment, "but well."

"All right. Then I'll see you when the all-clear is called. Thank you, Duran— er, I mean, _Duct Tape_."

Roy handed the walkie-talkie back to Durante, and he spoke with iron will. "You're welcome, Eagle One. Duct Tape out. Over."

Officer Landon spoke something on the other line, just to mention that he had reclaimed his walkie-talkie. Roy gave a pointed stare at Durante. "You'll let me know any development."

"Yes, sir," chanted Durante.

For now, all he could do was keep his sister company. And wait.

The gravity of the situation finally trumped Roy, and he couldn't disguise the wobble in his legs as he went to join Gail and the others. The room, though infinitely closer to hell, was cold and shadowy. With a hand pressed against the unfinished cold stone, Roy willed some courage to fill him. Every ounce of it had leeched the moment he'd come across Iscariot, and now, with the wild gunman, there was no hope that it would return.

But he had to look brave for his sister. His Selected, too. No doubt, they were terrified.

He sat cross-legged next to Luna, who sat away from the group since the layered train from her dress was at least two metres long. She gave him a glance that said a thousand words – sympathy, pity, compassion. He couldn't hold it for long, burying his gaze into the ground.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" she murmured, as Vana continued her tale. It involved something to do with wizards at a boarding school.

"No," Roy said simply, unable to hide his true feelings from seeping into his tone.

But Luna understood, leaving him to stew. She stretched her legs out, tuning into the conversation and Gail's giggles.

Roy tuned into his own mind. The basket toppled, spilling tons of random thought and theory into him like a tsunami wave. If the gunman wasn't Iscariot, what did he want? It had to be a Southern Rebel, right? Perhaps on orders from Walter Wolanski himself? And if that much was true, then it meant the gunman's target had been him or his family.

He'd failed today. But who said another intruder would fail again?

The West Wing, though, was the complete opposite end of the palace to the Great Ballroom, as he'd sussed earlier. If this shooter had really wanted to stick a bullet in Roy's brain, then why enter the palace at the opposite end? Why not through the Ballroom's blacked-out windows? He wasn't exactly protected on that catwalk.

Gail standing to her feet thrust Roy back into reality, and he blinked, as if refocusing on his bearings.

She pointed a finger in the air. " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

"It's Levi _o_ sa, not Levios _a_ ," said Avianna, which earnt a round of laughs.

"Your Highness."

Roy twisted around – Durante hovered over him, his walkie-talkie clutched in his hand.

"I have an update, sir."

Roy scrambled to stand, mouthing, "I'll be right back," to Luna, and following Durante to a quiet corner of the underground safe room.

Durante attempted to hunch, but with his bulky, built body, he looked rather comical trying to adjust to Roy's height. "The team in the West Wing have more information. It's your father's office." Durante paused. "The door's been forced open."

Merrick's _office_?

"What?" he said, as if to check he still wasn't pondering over things in his head still.

"They can't get close enough to check what's been damaged, but they've cornered him at the end of that hallway."

Roy could picture it so vividly – the assailant, with his back against those floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the balcony, which had a skewed angle of the gardens. The guards, with their backs to the corners, edging around in order to take that vital shot. To maim, not to destroy.

But why? Why enter at the other end if he only had to cross half of the palace to kill him?

Unless… he didn't want to kill him today.

If the guards were on heavier patrol around the Great Ballroom and Shell Wing, then they'd be on lighter patrol around the west side of the palace. There was no one there to harm.

There were things to steal, though. Things located in Merrick's office.

Maybe the shooter wasn't there for blood, but… information…?

His, Ji-Yu, and Merrick's offices were in the West Wing, along with all of the conference rooms, safes, guard barracks… even Delacroix's office was on the west side, on a lower level. If the gunman wanted information, today would be an optimum day to break in for it.

Durante's walkie-talkie buzzed again, and Durante straightened, taking the information straight to his ear. Roy stood by, eagerly waiting to devour whatever Durante would be told. He noticed a powerful exhale from Durante, which reflexively made Roy breathe out, too. Durante sheathed the walkie-talkie, turning to Roy with a hint of a wince.

"I have bad news, Your Highness," he spoke. "The gunman has been killed."

Relief swept over Roy like a cashmere blanket. Yes! The gunman had been taken—

Except that the gunman had answers they wanted, like why he'd broken into Merrick's office. Killing him left those answers buried six feet under, along with his body.

Dammit. _Dammit_.

They'd won the battle, but lost the war. For now, at least, the palace was safe, but the opportunity to extract more information about the Southern Rebels came as a cost to that safety. Roy wondered if it had been worth it. Maybe the gunman had shot himself, if only to take his secrets with him. Maybe the gunman wasn't a Southern Rebel at all.

Roy leant against the wall. The guards would no doubt conduct a final sweep before calling an all-clear, but if there had only been one assailant, then at least they could stop fearing for an assault in their underground safe rooms.

"Let's consider this good news, Durante," he said, dragging a hand through his loosening ponytail. Retying it, nowhere near as neatly as the hairdressers had, he gave Durante a nod. "When the all-clear is given, I want you to escort me to the West Wing."

Durante nodded. "Of course."

"And," Roy added, as he made to join Gail, "have another raise."

Durante stiffened, but nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Did he not like money? Roy paused for a moment, before brushing it away. Instead, he fixed him a lazy salute, and sauntered back to the Selected to deliver the good news. That the gunman was apprehend, and that for now, they were safe.

But now he could only think about what that man had stolen.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

When the all-clear rang through Durante and the guards' walkie-talkies, and Roy and the rest of the backstage crew embraced the fresh air and light once more, Roy made sure to double-check that Gail and his Selected were okay, so he could leave for Merrick's office. Gail, under the careful watch of the other guards, but immensely cheered up thanks to the Selected girls, had nearly not let him go, but Roy promised to return for her later on.

With Durante by his side, Roy traipsed through the corridors for the West Wing. A post-calamity quiet blanketed the entire estate, breathed as gently as a summer wind. Roy couldn't help but feel anxious with each step he took, each corner they turned. The threat was dissolved, but a part of his heart still ached at the danger that once lingered throughout the hallways of his home.

Could he even consider it a home anymore, so tarnished by the rebels' involvement?

When they reached the entrance to the West Wing, streams of guards flittered in and out of the doors to the rooms, and guarded the entrance to the most damaged areas. Roy glanced into the passing conference rooms – most had some disturbance in the form of toppled furniture or scuffled doorframes.

In one, a perfectly-round hole in the glass windows overlooked the west side of the palace, and a cold howl echoed outside. Forensic teams and guards surrounded a body, too, wrapped in plastic tarpaulin, and bloodstains smattered the cream-coloured walls. He couldn't look for long.

At the other end of the hallway, Merrick poured over his upturned office. Dishevelled could be used to describe the office and Merrick alike – with the desk thrown, the cabinets dominoed on top of one another, the ugly pictures Gail had drawn strewn over the floor and marked with dirty footprints. Merrick himself ran hands through his hair as if raking leaves, and his shirt was uncharacteristically untucked.

"Dad?"

Merrick's gaze snapped to him – and he warmed, dropping the beige folder in his hands and running to Roy. Roy couldn't stop the enveloping hug, the protective squeeze, the earthy scent of Merrick's sweaty shirt.

For moments, they held onto each other as if no other world existed. Roy pressed his nose tighter to Merrick's warm chest, and he felt the toxic panic he endured in the underground safe room swirl into something calmer, something serene.

Merrick let go – and Roy felt a dizzy bout as the warmth left with him. Still, Merrick clasped his shoulders, his expression so refreshingly relieved.

"Oh, son," he whispered. "You're all right?"

"I'm okay," said Roy, drinking in air. The draught from the holed window in the conference room seemed to lap over Roy. "I'm okay."

Merrick, too, sighed, and squeezed Roy's shoulder again. "I'm always worried you're hurt."

"I'm always worried _you're_ hurt."

Merrick's laugh was harmonious in the tense humdrum of activity. "Well, worry we shall no more. Everything's been taken care of." He unbound his hand from Roy's shoulders, and gestured into the office. "Come in. You have to see this."

"Can't we just go back to hugging and having father-son time?"

Merrick chuckled. "I wish. But really, you must take a look."

Roy treaded into Merrick's ruined office – it could barely be called an office, anymore. Even the wallpaper had somehow peeled itself off, as if trying to escape. Merrick plucked the folder from the desk again, opening it to a particular set of pages.

"This was a report filed a few weeks ago. Do you remember it?"

Roy tried to absorb the words, but his brain was far too heaped with adrenaline to even register the title. "No, sorry."

Merrick didn't seem to mind – he flicked to midway, and thrummed his finger over the column of… numbers? "Perhaps you'll recognise this?"

Roy shooed away his discontent to focus. He pried the page from the report – the title, _STATEMENT OF GROSS PROFIT_ , with _ALLENS_ written in a smaller font beneath. The columns were of numbers – money sums, added and subtracted with time stamps and dates.

Merrick flicked to the next page. _ANGELES_.

Province financial statements.

Merrick carefully replaced the page and shut the folder. He brandished it for Roy to see. "This is what the gunman stole. Just this, and nothing else." He tapped it. "We worked on this, do you remember?"

Something wrestled with Roy's memory, something so distanced that the image flickered in his mind. But not of sitting opposite Merrick on his desk, calculators out, and pens at the ready.

No, he remembered telling Lanna that he and Merrick were working on provincial finance statements. Telling Lanna in the Women's Room, when Gail had been playing make-believe… with his Selected.

His _Selected_. One of which… was a spy.

The spy would have been there. The spy would have netted this information, so wilfully tossed around like a football, and bagged it away for later use. With the fashion show, the very tiny tidbit that Roy and Merrick had finished drafts of financial statements for the provinces was used to spark a scheme to break in and steal them.

Who was there in the Women's Room that day?

It was a moment so long ago that his mind covered the memory in a haze of erratic detail. What colour was Lanna's dress? Who had to fire the rainbow missiles? What colour was the glitter Gail had thrown onto him?

Had Roy… tipped off the spy?

The revelation near winded him, and he took a step back and braced himself on the splintered door frame. He searched, scrabbled through his mind – but the day was so insignificant that his memory hadn't thought to tuck it away forever, when he most needed it now.

Merrick's smile faltered. "Roy? Is something the matter?"

Something was very much the matter, and if Roy really _did_ tip off the spy with a piece of information from so long ago, how often had he done it since? Mouth agape from instinct, Roy shut it. "No, nothing's wrong." He glanced behind him, to where Durante stood like protruding iron from the ground, and back to Merrick. "Where's Mother?"

Merrick opened to respond.

"I'm here."

Ji-Yu appeared at the door and swivelled Roy around by her own force, throwing her arms around him. Another familiar scent, reminding Roy of the days when Ji-Yu used to rock him in her arms, wafted into his nose, and her loose black hair dribbled over his shoulders. Merrick threw himself into the hug, too.

Roy wanted to enjoy this moment. But if the pieces of the puzzle fit…

" _Mother_ ," he spoke in Korean, muffled into her clothes. " _I think I may have tipped the spy off_."

Ji-Yu broke off immediately, alarm carrying her eyebrows to a new height. Merrick broke off from the hug, too, equally alarmed.

"What did you say?" he asked innocently.

In seconds, Ji-Yu recomposed herself. Calmness consumed her, too hard, and her smile was too fake. "He said he was extremely worried about me."

Merrick grinned sheepishly. "Well, you don't have to hide it, son. We're all worried about each other, remember?"

"Yes," said Ji-Yu stiffly, her eyes a flickering of city lights, ready to burn out.

Roy nodded robotically, too. "Just… so worried."

"Honey," Merrick said, nudging his head towards the file in his hand, "you must see—"

"I'll explain it to her! You keep looking for clues, Dad!" Roy piped – before either of them could argue, he grabbed Ji-Yu's arm and dragged her down the corridor. Perhaps it was obvious that they were hiding something, perhaps it was obvious something was occurring under Merrick's nose, but he didn't protest, and neither did Ji-Yu.

Pockets of guards passed them by, but Ji-Yu waved them away. Despite the Korean passing her lips, she spoke in a hushed tone. " _You did_ what?"

" _By accident_ ," Roy asserted. " _The gunman tried to steal Dad's province financial statements that he and I worked on weeks ago._ "

" _And how would you have tipped_ —"

" _Because when I was in the Women's Room, shirking work_ " – he ignored Ji-Yu's pointed stare – " _Lanna said that if I ever needed help, to come to her, and I jokingly said she could help Dad and I with province financial statements_."

Ji-Yu narrowed her eyes. " _You said this in the middle of the Women's Room where everyone could hear_?"

Roy gulped. " _Pretty much_."

Ji-Yu's eyes seemed to bury into Roy's, devouring him in flame and fury and critical harshness. But, another emotion caught his taste like a wild tang – helplessness.

" _If it's true that the spy really used this information, then… there's nothing we can do about it. What's done is done._ "

Roy nearly wanted to breathe relief, with Ji-Yu being so accepting with him.

" _But_ ," she continued – Roy's heart sank. " _It does mean one of those girls was the spy. Who was there? Do you remember_?"

Roy scoured through his memory, but it was like searching through ash and cinders to find a piece of wood. Flickers passed him by in the wind, but catching them and putting it into words was more difficult.

"I… I don't know," he ended up saying in English.

" _Think, Jun_ ," Ji-Yu said, with ordered softness. " _Think. Did anything happen on that day that might trigger your memory_?"

But Gail had so many make-believe roleplays that Roy couldn't tell one from the other. " _I know Lanna was definitely there_."

Ji-Yu steeled. " _What about… Yuriko Sato_?"

He honestly couldn't remember. If she were, she might have been sitting in the background, with the other girls. The _other_ girls – there was more of them. Maybe _all_ of them were present.

Ji-Yu massaged her temple. " _This isn't good. If you could remember… your roster of candidates might have been narrowed._ "

If only.

"Roy! Ji!"

Roy swerved – Merrick bounded down the corridor, the sympathetic frown still there. Roy whirled back around – Merrick couldn't know what they'd been discussing. He had to keep up that ruse from earlier.

He threw himself into Ji-Yu's arms, wailing madly. " _Omma_! I was _so_ worried that you wouldn't make it out alive!"

Ji-Yu stiffened. "What the—?"

Roy willed some form of emotion to burst from his vocals. " _So worried!_ "

Ji-Yu must have caught on, as she wrapped her arms around him as Merrick came to halt next to them. She patted Roy's back, though her voice was stilted. "There, there, son. It's… all right."

He couldn't see Merrick, with his face buried into Ji-Yu's shoulder, but he could hear him cooing. "Oh, Roy. It's all right now. The threat's been cleared."

Roy grasped Ji-Yu's shoulders. " _SO!_ _WORRIED!_ " The wail carried down the entire corridor, and all the staff, no doubt, paused to watch.

The faux-pity evaporated. Ji-Yu wrenched him off, an ignition on her cheeks and grating on her tongue. "Yes, _yes_ , Jun. It's all very morose." She glanced at Merrick. "When will your office be cleared?"

Merrick stroked Roy's back. "Shouldn't be too long, but for now, I think I'll use the temporary office downstairs." He patted Roy's shoulder. "I can see why you wanted to, er, speak in Korean, now."

" _So_ worried," Roy whispered, with an exaggerated sniffle.

"I'll sort him out," said Ji-Yu, with an incensed tone. "You go make sure nothing else was stolen, Merry."

"All right, honey."

His footsteps echoed away.

Roy rearranged his tear-stricken face for something far more casual. Ji-Yu focused her attention on him, and her gaze could cut diamond.

" _Honestly, Jun,_ " she said in Korean. " _What on earth was that_?"

Roy straightened, adjusting his tie. " _That was the best display of a father-fooling performance you have ever seen to date. Pretty good, am I right_?"

" _You'd make a better pot plant than actor_." She waved him off. " _Regardless, there is a lesson to learn: be careful what you say, and around whom._ "

The lesson had already branded into his mind. From now on, he would be suspicious of everything he said, everything he did, around his Selected. Around anyone, if Iscariot was an indication that a person could be a rebel whether it was suspected of them or not.

" _I know_ ," he mumbled.

It still roused Roy's suspicion that so shortly after Iscariot was taken in for custody, was the gunman sighted in the palace. That, perhaps, in some horrific worldview, the two events were connected.

He'd booked a flight to new Asia. But… why now? Why not on the evening of the dinner? Surely he would want to escape as soon as possible? At least, Roy would, if he were a rebel spy that had committed an act that would soon be traced back to him.

He'd deliberately put off fleeing until the last minute… perhaps he knew he was going to be captured. Perhaps Walter Wolanski _planned_ to use his capture (and, incidentally, the fashion show) to allow the gunman a less welcomed entrance.

Perhaps this was a set-up all along.

And Iscariot knew.

What else did he know?

He voiced this all to Ji-Yu, and her face grew increasingly taut, the muscles in her jaw clamping tightly.

" _It's quite possible, indeed, that he knew_ ," she said eventually.

And quite possible Roy would've known, too… if he'd spoken to Iscariot.

Could Roy have prevented the gunman from appearing? No one was injured, thank god, but everyone was rattled. Gail had been crying, Merrick and Ji-Yu were terrified, and Roy shook right through to the marrow in his bones.

" _Has_ …" he said in whispers, " _has Iscariot talked yet_?"

Ji-Yu shook her head, and she spoke slowly, as if dancing around a fire. " _No, or I would've heard it from Delacroix_."

He was still waiting for Roy to confront him, face-to-face. And he wouldn't talk until so.

So it left him with a decision. A decision to avoid the man on the other end of the mirror… or face him, and face his truth.

And after the events today, the choice was no longer difficult to make.

"I'll do it."

Ji-Yu cocked an eyebrow. "What?" she said in English.

Roy met her steely gaze with as much iron will as he could summon. "I'll… talk to Iscariot. Just me and him."

She widened her eyes. "You'll… do it?" she whispered. "What changed your…" she trailed off. That answer was obvious now. She reached for his shoulder, and squeezed tightly, meant to reassure him. "That's a good decision you've made, Jun. I'm proud."

The words calmed him, stilled his shivering muscles. Still, Roy huffed, taking it as a joke. "Doesn't mean I'm not scared _witless_ , but…"

The tension in her body crumpled. "You will have _guards_. You will be protected." She pursed her lips. "And for goodness sake, I taught you _jujitsu_ to black-belt level. You could break his hand _yourself_ if you wanted."

Roy winced. "It's called self-defence, not self-indulgence."

Ji-Yu snorted, but shook her head.

"Do you want to see him now?"

Roy thought on it. The mess of today's events congealed like bad milk in his head. He wasn't sure he could respond with biting wit to Iscariot's hard words if he were to confront him now. He shook his head.

"Tomorrow?"

Ji-Yu bristled. "Very well. Tomorrow morning, before breakfast. I'll let Delacroix know."

He would wake early in order to do his duty for his country. But tonight – tonight, Roy would visit every single one of his Selected girls to check they were okay.

Because after sitting opposite Iscariot, he wasn't certain he would be.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Ferelith Riverly had been quietly crying in her room when Roy arrived to make sure she was okay – and made sure she was reassured and comforted before going to the next Selected's room. Once finished, he had even called Vana on her mobile to check she wasn't shaken (quite the opposite – the situation had made her fired up, and she promised Roy that she would return to the palace regardless). He hadn't be able to stay long for any of them, the guards anxious for Roy himself to find protective custody in his room for the night, so each conversation was a short reminder why he had to talk to Iscariot the next day. A quiet, crying reminder.

Dawn assaulted Roy's bedroom in lethal strikes of dull grey and burning pink. Robotically, Roy had Rudy help him dress for the meeting with Iscariot, by preparing Roy's most suitable business attire – to show he wasn't anyone to be messed with, that his time was precious. Few words passed between them, Roy too busy chewing on his thoughts and barricading his ego.

The steps back down to the prison row in the Shell Wing felt leaden in Roy's feet. Flanked by Durante and Delacroix, and Ji-Yu and Gemima, he felt even more vulnerable than he had wrapped in the stone of the underground safe room. Guards froze as they passed by, dust churned as they drowned deeper into the depths of the Shell Wing. By the time Roy reached the interrogation room for Iscariot, he was already exhausted, physically and mentally, as if he hadn't slept at all.

Delacroix shut the door on the guards outside, and turned to Durante. "Officer, you are here because you are His Highness' personal guard. You should know that the information we are about to tell you is sensitive and strictly classified."

Ji-Yu crossed her arms. "Swear to us, Officer, that your secrecy is automatic."

He straightened, and a droplet of sweat curled down his forehead, but tipped his head upwards and saluted. "Whatever I hear does not leave this room, captain, Your Majesty. I swear it."

"Good," said Ji-Yu. She nodded at Delacroix and Gemima. Together, they began to inform Durante on the details about the spy amongst the Selected, and the details of Roy's secret mission to uncover them.

Ji-Yu strode to the mirror, placing her fingers on the glass, staring into the void of the interrogation chamber. "You're absolutely sure you want to do this, Jun?"

Roy came to stand next to her, taking in Iscariot's details on the other side. Still the unassuming man – the shadow of a person, the faceless amongst a crowd. His hair stuck up in several places where he'd itched his scalp. Roy drank it all in. This man had answers locked in that twisted brain of his, and it was up to Roy to find out what.

"I do," he said, pressing his fingers onto the glass. It was chilled, and sent peppered sparks up Roy's skin.

Ji-Yu blew out a breath. "We need answers about his email correspondent, Newton's Wife. And, of course, the spy."

"And if he doesn't know?"

Ji-Yu sighed. "Then we'll just have to keep looking."

A fair argument. Roy was sure Iscariot was dead-set on speaking of his 'truth' anyway.

Delacroix, Gemima and Durante approached them. Delacroix spoke, "Durante is up-to-date, Your Majesty, Your Highness."

Durante clenched his fists together at his sides. "I'm sorry to hear about your predicament, Your Highness."

"Thanks," Roy said, as if the words were any comfort, though if Durante was now in on the spy problem, it at least meant another set of ears to help him through. "My butler, Rudy, and I usually talk about the spy problem whenever we can, so if you have anything to contribute, you're welcome to." He met his gaze, having to tip his head back. "You and Rudy are friends, right?" They'd been the pair to bring Roy the news about the Iscariot's appearance, after all.

Durante blinked – for a moment, Roy could see something shift in his persona. From strong and silent, to a moment of weakness, an unconcealed flash of surprise. But he reined it in, and exhaled.

"Yes, sir. We are… friends."

Roy nodded, not thinking much of it. "Then welcome to our weird circle."

Ji-Yu indicated to the door. "Let's not dawdle further."

Delacroix and Durante opened the door with an accompanied buzz, after the rapid tap of the door code, and the mechanical groan between the metal. Delacroix and Durante walked in, standing like silent statues at the two corners of the room, their eyes firmly captivated by the blank wall behind their prisoner.

Roy hesitated by the threshold. Blood rushed through his veins, rattled through his bones, and he had to blink rapidly to shoo away the darkness caressing him. Not too late – not too late for what could be the biggest mistake of his life.

But it was. The mistake had already happened, and it was time to rectify it.

He stepped inside.

 **=#=#=#=**

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Iscariot's restraints tinkled against the table as he moved to look up, to lean back. A thick, bulbous bruise swelled from his left cheek, and several more bruises splattered across his bare arms. Delacroix's second persuasion techniques clearly hadn't worked – and hadn't fazed him, the ever-permanent scowl replaced itself with a sneer, slithering and cocky. As if the planets had aligned just for him.

"Your Highness," he cooed.

Roy felt stiff to his muscles, but he forced himself to move as fluidly as possible as he manoeuvred towards the chair opposite him, Delacroix and Durante hovering behind.

Roy sat, scraping the metal legs back with deliberate loudness. "Jordan Iscariot." He nearly fumbled his words, too.

Iscariot let out a low chuckle, like a wolf sizing up prey. "Finally mustered some courage to see me."

Roy dragged some light, some hope, from the deepest part of him. "I mustered time. I'm a busy man."

"Heh. Too busy wooing those ladies? Mooching down a catwalk?" said Iscariot. "Or too busy shirking your princely duties?"

Behind him, Durante growled – the lack of respect rolled off this man, acidic. Roy stilled, not because of the lack of respect, but because he had power enough to do so. Iscariot did not fear whatever came of this conversation – he was only the messenger, the mouthpiece.

Roy ignored his question. "You knew the gunman was coming today, didn't you?"

Iscariot slouched in his chair, throwing his legs up on the table. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't."

"Come on, Jordan," said Roy, leaning forwards, as if to mirror him. "I take time from my busy schedule to meet you. You could at least tell me if I'm right."

He shrugged. "Or I could be coy." He nudged his head to Delacroix behind him. "Seemed to work for your guard buddies over there."

Well, this was going nowhere. If Roy wanted banter, he would speak to Rudy. He let out an aggravated sigh.

"So, you've been begging to see me. What did you want to tell me?"

Iscariot paused for a moment, and he slipped his legs off the table and cupped his long chin in his hands. Roy could smell his breath from such a distance, an unpleasant scent as if he hadn't washed his teeth that morning. Perhaps he hadn't, given Augustus Teakwood probably apprehended him before he got the chance.

"The truth," said Iscariot.

Roy gulped down a bout of anxiety that shuddered down his spine. "And that is?"

"Why do you think Walter Wolanski targeted you during that broadcast? I can assure you," he smirked, "it wasn't because of your dashing good looks."

Roy steeled. "Because I'm heir to the throne."

"Because you're irresponsible."

All this for Iscariot to tell Roy what he already knew? Roy had to laugh. "Take a damn number. I _know_."

"But you're _despicably_ irresponsible. You forget you're royalty on a daily basis. Partying, slacking. You've insulted foreign diplomats with your behaviour. Like you don't even care you're driving your own country down a hole of embarrassment. Even your Selection is just a way for you shun reality."

Iscariot spoke as if this were a casual conversation in a coffee shop, but his words swiped at Roy's feet. He could feel his blood churning with fury and fire, and the hopeless fact that he was completely correct. He clenched his fists underneath the table, squeezing until his knuckles bled white. _Don't get_ _caught up in Iscariot's taunts_.

"You know your history, boy?" Iscariot continued.

Durante growled. "Address him as _Your Highness_."

Iscariot rolled his eyes. "You know your history, _Your Highness_?"

There were blank spots in his memory, of course, but not enough that he couldn't tackle Iscariot's burning questions. "Of course," Roy grounded out.

"Then you know your family tree was questionable at best," he said. "Let's see… your great-grandmother, Janice Schreave, reinstated an absolute monarchy through force so that she could reign with full power. Your ancestor, Clarkson Schreave, was an abuser and adulterer. Even if I go back to the beginning of the Schreave line, it is covered in blood. Abby Illéa and Porter Schreave conspired to kill Justin Illéa for the crown."

Roy knew it all – it was impossible not to know the worst of his ancestry, given how horrific some of it was. Stains on his family tree. There were many good things, too, which Iscariot was glossing over, but the implication still riled Roy, and he couldn't halt the growl in his throat. "You're suggesting I would wage war against a government, abuse my family, cheat on my wife, or conspire to kill my parents for a damn _headpiece_?"

"I'm suggesting ill methods wouldn't be above you."

"You don't know me."

"I know enough."

He wanted so badly to escape this conversation, or to add another bruise to his snivelling face, and to let Iscariot rot forever, but Roy had to get his answers. "If you tell me who Newton's Wife is, then perhaps I'll consider a lighter punishment for you."

Iscariot groaned. "You're stupid if you think I know who they are. Why do you think they have a codename?"

No answers there. "Fine. Then tell me which of my Selected girls is the spy for your organisation, then. Surely, you must know that."

This cause Iscariot's eyebrows to jump, his bruises to twitch. The air grew thick and tense for a second in time, and Roy realised the Southern Rebels really _didn't_ know that the royal family knew about the spy – confirming their advantage. That had to be a good sign.

But Iscariot barked another laugh, the surprise dashed. "Ah, so, you know about her? I guess we weren't as thorough as I thought." He clucked his tongue. "But you don't know who she is? My, that's a shame."

"Then tell me."

"So you'll _consider_ a lighter sentence? Please. I'm not stupid," he snorted. "I want your word that I will go free and my record wiped when I reveal this information."

Roy narrowed his eyes. "I can't do that, and you know it."

"Of course you can, princey," taunted Iscariot. It earnt another growl from Durante, but Iscariot ignored him. He tutted, with a condescending gloss over of his eyes. "You're heir to the damn throne. You can do anything. Though it doesn't mean you _should_ do anything, party boy."

"And I definitely _shouldn't_ release you." He could feel frustration galloping through him like strong vodka. "So this is how we'll play things. You tell me, and I'll spare you from a death sentence."

Iscariot sighed. "Oh, fine. You want a name? I'll give you a name." Then, he cackled, and it sounded like breaking glass. "Even though you know about the spy, the fact that you haven't realised her identity makes the situation even more hilarious."

Roy stilled. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

"It means the answer's been staring you in the face, boy," he said. "Your spy girl. It's Yuriko Sato."

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 **A/N** : Ahahahah! You thought I was done with cliffhangers?! Nope! *evil laugh* Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

So a not-quite Halloween ball is approaching (not-quite because it falls after Halloween and doesn't celebrate it, but still recognises the holiday), so if you haven't already on Pinterest, please send me your character's costume choice either through review or PM! A few girls will be eliminated in the meantime, but it's better to be prepared! I will say no to vampires though; Roy has already claimed that one. :P

So I definitely want to know your thoughts on the end of this chapter! If you'd like to leave a review I'd appreciate it immensely (even you anons!). Of course, favourites and follows are also wholly loved. :D

I should also mention that if you're looking for that hint, it was in Chapter 10. :3

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: " _I'm here_ , spoken like a shared thread of affection between lovers."


	18. Addressing the Question

The world seemed to crumble, fragmenting into hollow shards, biting the universe with an unending void. Something leeched Roy's breath, stole it from his windpipes, and left him breathless and gasping for air.

Yuriko Sato… was the spy?

Of course, he'd always had his suspicions. Yuriko, who dismissed her guards, never showed much emotion, was there on the night of the sabotaged broadcast… her place on the Board was the most prominent yet, even if he'd only inked two suspicious persons. But now, to be told point-blank, like taking a bullet straight to the heart, that Yuriko Sato was the spy… it blistered through him like tearing an open wound.

 _Don't get attached_ , he'd once told himself. To him, Yuriko was only a friend, and he had growing doubts she could ever be anything more to him, but still the betrayal, the loss, eviscerated him like the sharpness of a thousand blades.

He couldn't move from his chair, couldn't stare anywhere but straight at Jordan Iscariot's welted face. Shackled in a moment in time, bound to the cold metallic scent in the interrogation chamber. As if Roy were gazing into another plane of existence, Iscariot's voice was near muffled.

"Surprised, boy?"

Roy refocused, swatting his emotions away, but his voice echoed brittle against the thick walls. "You're sure?" he croaked.

Iscariot grinned. "Am I?"

There was a chance he was lying.

But there was a chance he was telling the truth.

"You said you'd tell me."

Iscariot sneered. "I said I could be coy."

Roy had a hard time believing someone so calm and gentle could have anything to do with the fanatics that were the Southern Rebels. He would swear Yuriko was too kind, too pure, too filled with a subtle wonder about the world. But now this… he wasn't sure if he could think of her as the same person that back-flipped at a posh dinner ever again. Could ever see her with only the best interests in her heart.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" The words jerked from his throat.

"You don't." Iscariot said sweetly. "You'll just have to give me the benefit of the doubt."

Even if this man was a rebel, even if this man had sabotaged the Midknight broadcast… there wasn't anything proving what he'd said.

Roy threw himself to his feet and pivoted, waving at Captain Delacroix and Officer Durante to exit. He must have looked pained, as Durante let his mask of utter calm slip for something far more urgent.

"Until we meet again, Prince Roy!" Iscariot chortled, as Roy swung the door open. He could scarcely think – blood pounding through his ears, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

" _Mother_ ," he spoke in Korean, so Iscariot couldn't understand their conversation. " _I don't think_ —"

But only Gemima remained stationed in the lobby. Ji-Yu was gone.

Delacroix and Durante exited, and shut the door. Roy swirled to Gemima.

"Where the hell is my mother?"

But he already knew the answer. Ji-Yu had heard every word passed between them in the chamber, and she was far more enraged by the presence of the spy than Roy was, even though he was the one who was to potentially woo them.

Gemima flickered her stone-cold face to the door. "She left after she said the girl's name."

She'd gone to find Yuriko.

A sudden dizziness seized him. If Iscariot was lying, _if_ , then Yuriko was in the clear, and Ji-Yu had disappeared to condemn an innocent women.

"Delacroix, stay here. Durante, with me."

He sped out of the room, down the prison cell corridor, and back to the surface of the Shell Wing. The veiny, weathered stripes of navy and cream only seemed to make him feel nauseous now, like the undulating waves under a boat. If he hurried, he could catch Ji-Yu before she blitzed her full fury on Yuriko. They needed solid evidence, and the word of Iscariot was as concrete as droplets of water.

"Sir," Durante panted, easily keeping pace with Roy. "Where are we going?"

"To the East Wing, of the Selected. Mother's gone to find Yuriko."

They rounded the corner – nearly running headfirst into Ji-Yu, three guards… and Yuriko Sato.

She shivered – her hair was wet, and trickled like a black river down her back. It was obvious that she'd just bathed for the morning, and Roy couldn't tell whether it was the cold, her silvery underdress and matching dressing gown, the recent attack, or the guards looming menacingly over her, that struck her shaking.

She brushed him off last night, when he'd gone to visit her – politely telling him she was fine, but needed rest. The guards weren't present by her door once more, and when she'd shut the door, he'd ordered four to remain posted by her bedroom all night.

Ji-Yu came to pause before Roy. "Jun." True coldness, like sprouting icicles, sparkled from her eyes. "I am bringing Lady Sato for questioning."

"Mother, wait." He glanced at Yuriko, and she stared, wide-eyed and mouth slightly open, her hands clutched tightly to her chest. "Iscariot could be lying. There's no way we can take his word as absolute truth. She's innocent until proven guilty—"

"The odds are stacked against her," Ji-Yu hissed. "So she's not innocent until _she_ proves it."

Yuriko seemed to stiffen in Roy's peripherals, but he fixed entirely on Ji-Yu. "Yes, but, Mother—" he lowered his voice, "you're _scaring_ her—"

"She damn well _better_ be scared."

Yuriko must have found some courage to speak with. "Y-Your Highness, what is this about—?"

Ji-Yu whipped around to face her. "Don't speak until given the order. Is that clear?"

Fear gripped her, but she nodded placidly, and grasped her gown tighter. Roy felt a tornado of helplessness, pity and guilt at once, churning through him – if it was true Yuriko was the spy, then this was deserved and his guilt for naught, but if not… a cruel way to end their friendship, or anything between them at all.

This would be the way she'd remember him. This was his legacy.

He turned to Ji-Yu, pleading. "Mother, _please_ —"

"If you're not going to be objective, Jun, then you shouldn't be here either." Her stormy eyes jumped to Durante. "Keep him away until the captain contacts you."

Roy faced Durante with a gasp. " _No_ —"

But an order from the queen was unbreakable and unbendable. Durante strung his lips together and saluted. "Yes, Your Majesty."

" _No, Your Majesty_!" Roy corrected, but he was powerless to stop Durante from blocking him, and powerless to stop Yuriko being herded away by three guards and Ji-Yu, back to the prison cells in the Shell Wing.

" _Durante_!" He poured every ounce of command into his voice. "Move out of the way or I'll _fire_ your ass!"

Durante may have flinched at the words, but it didn't deter him from carrying Ji-Yu's word. "I can't let you pass, Your Highness. I'm sorry."

Roy tried to out-speed him, to barge passed, even as Ji-Yu and Yuriko's shadows faded long ago. But Durante spread his figure wide like protecting a goal net from a ball. He was an unclimbable wall, the immoveable object meeting a weak, flimsy, stoppable force, and eventually, Roy petered out.

"Dammit," he cursed, not caring how unprofessional it was.

Durante straightened. Sweet gleaned from his brow. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Roy gritted his teeth. His weak apology fell on closed ears. He glared at Durante square in the eyes, unafraid to show his vexation.

"Am I allowed to go to the garden, _officer_?" Roy snapped.

Durante's passive face twitched at the tone. "Anywhere but the Shell Wing, Your Highness, until I am contacted by Captain Delacroix."

It wasn't Durante's fault – not really, for obeying the orders of his superiors. Roy didn't want to cost Durante his job, either, not after he'd been let in on their secret. Still, it hurt, like being gutted and left to rot as carrion, to be held back like that by his own guard. To be left to his unhinged thoughts about what was going on in that interrogation chamber by his own mother.

Fresh air. He needed the fresh air of the garden, the cloying scents of a dying autumn. Roy pivoted on his heel. "You're not fired," he clarified, with a sigh. "I'm just… pissed off."

Durante was silent, and Roy thought he was going to remain silent the whole journey to the garden until he said, "I can see that, Your Highness."

A line so dry and driven. Roy didn't have the patience to react to it properly. "Just take me to the garden."

Durante obeyed, and before Roy knew it, the cold air embraced him.

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Roy didn't stop walking, not even until he reached the end of the courtyard with the five-tiered fountain, memories of that date with Avianna so distant. Not even until he passed the hedge maze, the canopy walk, the peanut-shaped swimming pool empty in winter months. Morning sunlight chilled his very bones, and the grumble of Roy's stomach alerted him that it was close to breakfast time, but he didn't stop until he was right by the edge of the forest, blocked by the white walls and gilded spires of the protective gate.

He'd walked acres – glancing back, the palace's estate seemed less intimidating now. He turned and seared his gaze firm on the wall, as if he could burn right through it with his mind. The forest branches drooped over the side, rustling over Roy's head with sympathetic whisper. Durante, silent, hovered a few paces behind him.

Roy should've known his mother would freak out, known she would take immediate action. He should have made one of the guards wait outside, so they could hold Ji-Yu back when Iscariot were to reveal sensitive information. _He should've known, he should've known_.

And now Yuriko was no doubt undergoing some terrible mental torture, down in the prison cells where screams couldn't breach the lobby walls.

Guilt burrowed into him deeper. He knew he was being stupid – that Yuriko would at least be treated with respect, and no physical harm done to her like it had Iscariot – but it pained him to know that everything they had built between them would crumble. Her trust would be lost.

Perhaps it was _her_ that lost Roy's trust. If Iscariot's claim was true…

He slammed a fist onto the brick, and a flash of pain reverberated through his fingers, through his palm, muscle and bone. He wouldn't know, conjuring mad theories in his mind. He needed to talk to her.

He needed to wait.

Blowing a sigh, Roy braced his back on the wall and slid down to sit on the grass. It wasn't wet, albeit mushy, and the blades would probably stain his trousers, but he was beyond caring at this point.

Durante continued to stand guard. From the distance, Roy could see more guards in their patrol pairs, weaving through the garden features. The Selected, and the decent members of his family, were probably heading down for breakfast now, still wary from last night's attack. It would be a sombre affair, and even though Roy wasn't there, he knew he had enough sombreness for all of them combined.

A flicker of movement in the distance distracted Roy. Two guards broke formation in the courtyard. He squinted – spying a woman with them, approaching him with a skip in her step.

Not a random woman. It was a Selected – Skylar Davenport. She was probably coming over to figure out why Roy was sitting alone, looking devoured in misery.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk to another Selected right now. It would only surface the fact that one of their brethren was being interrogated in the depths of his home, reinforce that the Selection had burdened him with the biggest conspiracy of his life.

Then again, the Selection had worked for several generations of his family. A little voice piped in hope. _It could also be the best decision you've ever made_.

Skye Davenport's thick, blonde hair fluttered down to her waist in waves, covering parts of her sheath dress – a baby blue so like the morning sky above, veiled in embroidery. It was a change from the black escort dress she wore for the fashion show. In heels, the grass seemed to tickle the very edges of her feet. A fluffy white coat drowned her short frame.

She waved as she reached close enough to see her features, wearing a confident grin. "Hi, Your Highness!"

He gave a half-hearted wave – at least, someone seemed to be happy in the wake of rebel attacks. She'd been calm yesterday, too – blunt that rebels would not ruin her stride.

"Lady Skye, good morning," he greeted when she came up to him. "I hope you're well."

She titled her head back and forth, crossing her arms. "As well as one can be after that fiasco yesterday. After the all-clear sounded, we were ordered to our rooms and had late dinner. Scary stuff, though you know that already. I know it's early, but… I just had to come out for some air before breakfast."

Same as Roy, but for different – though not completely unrelated – reasons. "I think we all need a dose of fresh air after that."

She laughed. "I'll agree to that!" She nudged her head next to him. "It'll ruin my coat, but can I sit? It seems you need the company." She glanced at Durante, and whispered, "And that dude doesn't look like he's talking much."

Roy didn't fancy company at the moment, but he managed a smirk. "True." He patted the ground next to him. She jumped to him, nestling close – far too close than his sober side was used to with people he didn't know very well, but he didn't have the heart to do anything about it. Her perfume wafted over a fresh scent, like drops of new snowfall.

Her guard escorts and Durante mumbled to one another. Roy knew Durante wasn't talking about the Shell Wing surprises, fabricating some lie about his duties today – he hoped Durante was a good _ad libber_.

"What bothers you?" she whispered. Then, even lower, she said, "The rebel attack during the fashion show?"

Rebels? He'd never said the gunman was a rebel, specifically.

"You assume the assailant was a rebel," he spoke, monotonous.

Skye blinked, then tilted her head and frowned. "Who else could it be?" She shrugged her momentary confusion off. "I'll bet he was sent by that Walter Wolanski troublemaker. Despicable, really. Why do people like him exist?"

Perhaps it was her trying to make him feel better, but he couldn't help but notice the heavy emphasis on her tone. He had to guess that she could sense how deep his hurt ran, and rolled with it. He arranged a smile.

"Mystery to me."

"Well" – she clasped his arm with an exuberance of confidence, an oddly intimate gesture that squeezed Roy's lungs – "if you need to talk to someone, I'm here."

He felt the emphasis as if it were drawn on his forehead. _I'm here_ , spoken like a shared thread of affection between lovers. It filled him with a spindle of heat as equally as it confused him.

She seemed to hold onto that crackle of tension, that flutter of the breeze, for the longest moment. Then, she stiffened, and tacked on, "All of the Selected are here for you, Your Highness. We're your friends."

Were they? His friends? Or did they sheathe their claws every time he was around? It was hard to know, when the spy had coloured his vision of his Selected.

"Thank you," he said anyway, tempted to lean into her warmth.

Still, he couldn't help but find it odd that she had such a sentence hastily added, stiffened at the idea of the other Selected being there for him. It was as if she didn't believe herself – that only she was his beam of support, and the others were nothing but alligators tearing it down. Jealousy? That was a whole other side to drama Roy didn't want to mull over.

For a moment, he thought the nature of the conversation seemed Board-worthy, a note to add next to Skye's name… if the Board were still in use after today's revelation. He'd even gone so far as to have Rudy update it, after Blair and Camilla's stage problem, as he was talking with Iscariot. A pointless endeavour now.

He tucked the thought away in the basket of his mind, and refocused on the conversation at hand. "The girls, yesterday… I wasn't there for all of them, during the attack."

Skylar appeared to relax, leaning back onto the wall and bracing her arms behind the back of her head. "You did visit us yesterday, Your Highness!"

He felt her warmth escape him. "Not for long enough," he admitted. "I will have to double-check everyone is all right after breakfast."

Skye grinned. "I'll bet everyone would love that."

They fell into silence again – blissful, heart-kissing silence. But thoughts only sprinted headfirst into Roy's mind once quiet settled around him. His eyes plastered on statuesque Durante muttering to the other guards. Worry sprang from his gut for Yuriko and her innocence, and he tried to shoo them away with no avail.

Skye fidgeted, flicking the thoughts away for seconds – he realised that she probably wasn't used to staying quiet for so long, as if the unspoken words between them were painful.

"Talk about something," Roy interjected suddenly. "Anything. I have a lot on my mind right now."

Skye's determined smile enraptured her, crinkling her green eyes. "All right. Let's see – oh! How about the time I wiped out on the slopes… on camera?!"

Roy continued to sit in silence as Skye told a tale about her famous snowboarding career; a fall forever immortalised on camera at her parents' resort. He flickered in and out, trying to concentrate, to take his mind off his current issues, but not even Skye's amusing facial expressions or elaborate hand gestures could pull him from the void. He'd become hypersensitive to anything Durante did – talking, rolling his hands, flexing his shoulders.

Then, after what felt like fifteen minutes of Skye rambling, Durante seemed to shift. His hand fluttered to his walkie-talkie, bringing it to his lips, moving away from the pair of guards to speak. Was that the call Roy had been waiting for?

Durante neared the pair – Skye's mouth hinged on a half-spoken word.

"Your Highness," he said. "I have been asked to retrieve you."

They'd finished their initial interrogation. Roy's heart clapped within him.

He jumped to stand, accidentally shoving Skye onto the side. She tumbled, with an accompanied _oh_ sound, and her hair draped across the grass.

He blanched, immediately moving to help her up. "Oh, darn– I'm so sorry—"

But Skye burst out with laughter. "You're fine, you're fine!" She smirked. "That's the most emotion I've seen you portray this entire conversation."

He couldn't help it – a snicker rose from a deep part of him. Somehow, when he was in the throes of the worst situation ever, Skye had cheered him up. Just the tiniest bit.

He helped her come to stand. "I've had a weird week."

She wobbled to stand, and jerked her head towards Durante. "Just got weirder?"

Roy didn't even need to contemplate. "Yeah. Just got weirder."

"I understand." A bright smile captivated her face. "Well, I'll let you get on with it, then. See you at breakfast!"

Skye marched back to her guards with renewed pep, and together they returned to the palace. Roy had to watch her go, amused and sad all at once – she had a soul made of stars, and nothing seemed to dim her. Glad to have chatted with her (or have been chatted at _by_ her), Roy joined Durante in the hurried walk back to the palace.

"Did the captain say anything else? What they found?"

Durante shook his head. "No, sir."

They didn't talk until Roy was back in the Shell Wing prison cells, allowed past by another set of guards. Instead of going into the room straight to the left, they banked right – the lobby overlooking the interrogation chamber was the same, except flipped. Ji-Yu, Delcroix and Gemima waited by the double-way mirror.

From the calm and bittersweet taste of Skye's conversation, somehow, seeing Ji-Yu annoyed only incited a flame in Roy. He clenched his fists.

"So?" he snapped.

"Don't take that tone with me, Jun," Ji-Yu admonished. "I did what I had to do."

"Was it worth it?"

Her eyes narrowed, and a stillness cocooned her. "Apparently not. She's denying everything."

Yuriko was… not the spy? Confusion nestled in Roy's gut, and though he'd always believed Yuriko had an innocent soul, that Iscariot was lying, he could tell by Ji-Yu's tone that there was something else.

"So she's innocent," he said eventually, going with his original instinct. "And Iscariot was lying."

But Gemima inhaled a large breath. "She's showing all the signs of telling the truth, but…" she looked Roy square in the eyes. "She could also be trained to lie."

Roy felt himself hollow out. If she confessed – she was condemned. If she didn't confess – she was condemned. It seemed to be a cycle that no matter how hard Yuriko tried, couldn't break from.

He mustered his resolve. "Let me talk to her."

Ji-Yu clicked her tongue. "Absolutely not."

"I can find out if she's telling the truth or not," Roy continued, ignoring Ji-Yu's interjection. "I'll look her straight in the eye – and I'll ask her, straight-up, if she's a rebel or not."

But Ji-Yu whistled a sigh. "That won't work. If she is the spy, she'll appeal to whatever relationship you two had. She'll use your blindness—"

"I'm _not_ blind!" he yelled, so fiercely it singed his tongue. "If you really think Iscariot is a more credible source than her, then _you're_ the one that's blind!" Before anyone could reply, Roy motioned at Durante. "With me, officer. I'm going in to talk to her, whether the _queen_ likes it or not."

He expected resistance, for Delacroix to block the door, for Gemima to hold him back, but no one did anything, and Roy jammed in his authorisation code and shoved open the door. Cold air wracked him, clashing against the spiciness in his blood, and he and Durante piled into the chamber and shut the door.

Silence. Then, he dared to look at Yuriko Sato.

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Yuriko's hair clung to her for dear life, desperate for the torture to end, for the tyranny to stop. The wide, scared flash of her eyes reminded Roy of a rabbit caught in headlights, about to be run over. Her dressing gown was still tight around her like bandage, stained wet with the drips from her hair and the tears mottling her cheeks.

She was a ghost that had been haunted.

Her gaze fixed to Roy as if he would be the next round in her interrogation, that respite never began. He had to force down the full-frontal disgust that drove through him to look calm and collected. Disgust that Delacroix and Ji-Yu – his own damn _mother_ – could treat someone this way.

If she were innocent.

Roy scraped the chair back, and sat down. Yuriko continued to stare, as if he were a mere illusion or trick of the light. He spoke as softly as he could.

"Yuriko… I'm sorry for all this."

Even she couldn't withhold the range of emotions that clouded her – fear, anger, disgust, sadness and sorrow. She settled on her usual vacant expression, with a hardened steel behind her eyes.

"Why?" she whispered as softly.

Roy wasn't sure he was allowed to tell her the full details about the spy. No doubt, she knew the basics already, having been accused of the crime since being dragged down in here. But to tell her everything… Roy had to tread carefully. He wasn't sure she would understand, anyway – after what they'd made her do, he doubted she wanted to understand.

He gulped down thick lumps of nerves, and pulled from all his prince training. Stay calm, look cool. "I'm sorry," he spoke again. "I can't tell you—"

"Your Highness, _please_ ," she begged from a deep part of her, echoing through the room like pained birdsong. The first time she had ever spoken up for herself since that time she'd offered to be his ears.

"I can't tell you," he repeated.

"But I'm _innocent_ ," she pressed. "I'd never met the Southern Rebels until that night, at the Midknight dinner. I knew how bad the problem was through my circus travels, but I'd never— I wouldn't even _consider_ joining them."

Each word struck Roy and equally blessed him with less guilt.

Yuriko continued. "It is true that… that I don't have feelings for you, Your Highness." She dared to meet his gaze again, shying suddenly. "But that wouldn't drive me to such atrocities."

Her confession… didn't hurt, but only strengthened the muscles in his back, made him sit straighter. The time was ripe now, to ask.

"Then please be honest with me. If you go back on your words with my mother and the captain, I won't be mad. Just… honesty." He gulped a breath. "Are you a spy for the Southern Rebels?"

It didn't take her more than a second to answer, absolute power behind her words.

"No."

And Roy believed her.

He nodded, tearing his gaze away. "That's all I have to ask then." He dared to look once more, and her eyes had widened.

"Do you believe me?"

He made sure to look at the double-way mirror, where Ji-Yu, Delacroix and Gemima were watching. "Yes."

She placed a hand onto her mouth, and muffled out, "Thank goodness."

"Then let me have you released."

He stood up, making to leave – he could read Yuriko's expression, that she was hiding how terrified she felt to be left alone in here when Delacroix could return and make tougher demands of her. But he made sure to smile at her reassuringly, and leave with his head held high.

Roy squared his shoulders at Ji-Yu. She returned a sharp gaze, cutting like a knife.

"Her word means nothing to me."

"It means something to _me_ ," Roy barked, the sudden spitfire fuelling through him again. "Now _release_ her, or so help me, I'll tell everyone in the whole damn _palace_ about the spy."

Ji-Yu hissed at his tone and acidic words, baring her teeth – but said nothing for a few moments. She only seemed to absorb Roy's biting gaze, his strength and resolve, his loyalty radiating from his protective stance by the door. And, eventually, Ji-Yu tore her gaze away, staring at the mirror.

"You'd better be right, Jun." She waved at Delacroix. "Release her."

Folds of relief curled through Roy like inked calligraphy, and he could only relax his tensing shoulders as Delacroix re-entered the room to unlock Yuriko's manacles. No doubt, she would be relieved and thankful too, but the damage was done and the trust was destroyed. She was a flower with no more petals to bare.

She exited the chamber warily, staying as still and rigid as possible, standing behind Roy. Ji-Yu roved her eyes over her, an unreadable expression sapping Roy's willpower. She couldn't possibly go back on her word, could she?

"T-Thank you, Your Highness, captain, Your Majesty, ma'am," Yuriko said, small and placid, sketching a curtsy along with her words. As if being dragged here was anything to be grateful for.

Ji-Yu crossed her arms. "Let it be known, Lady Sato, that I was required to interrogate you for the good of my country and for the good of my son. It's nothing personal."

"I understand," she mumbled quietly.

"Anything you have learnt here today," Ji-Yu continued, "does not leave this room. Does not leave your lips. Put your hand on your heart, and swear it on the crown."

Roy turned to her – tried to give a reassuring smile, that all she had to do was swear to this. Yuriko's terror had been arranged into her usual blank stare, milky gaze. But there was pain in her, with each shiver of her arms, or refusal to meet anyone's eye.

She placed a loose hand on her heart. "I swear that I will not speak of this interrogation, nor of the things I have learnt from it. I swear this, on the crown."

"And you understand the _punishment_ should you break this promise?"

Roy swivelled to face her. " _Mother_ —"

"I understand the punishment that I face should I break this promise. I swear this, on the crown."

"Good. Then you are dismissed from the palace." Ji-Yu waved her hand. "You may go."

That was it. No apologies, no sorrow. It took a heartbeat of a moment for Yuriko to skitter out, for Delacroix to trail behind her as escort. Plunged so deep in anger, Roy glared at Ji-Yu.

"Only _I_ can dismiss girls from my Selection."

For moments, her eyes seemed to pop. Then, she composed herself, turning to the empty chamber. "She would have wanted to leave anyway." The ice in her tone was exquisitely cold. "I did what I had to do."

Roy didn't want to argue further. Right now, he had to make sure – really make sure – Yuriko was all right. He exited the room in a march, leaving Ji-Yu and Gemima to talk alone, and spotted Yuriko at the top of the stairs in the Shell Wing, her back bent with the aches of today.

"Yuriko!" Roy called, speeding up the stairs. "Yuriko, wait!"

She halted, the burning orange of the lit chandeliers glistening on the dusty carpet. Once Roy caught up, he dismissed Delacroix, and dared to meet her meagre gaze.

"I-I'm sorry," he choked out. He didn't know how else to start.

She shivered, holding her arms close to her. "It's okay, Your Highness." The words shivered through her.

"No, it's not."

He shucked his coat, the wool stealing his warmth, and wrapped it around her petite frame. In this empty hallway, leading to a prison cell, and who else knew where, Roy wasn't sure he could comfort her at all.

"Please," he whispered. "Just… tell how you feel. Honestly."

The coat seemed to shock her, and she bobbed her head up, the drying strands of her hair flaying the space around them. Yet, she still didn't hold the coat, squeeze it around her to soak in its heat. Instead, she left it hanging over her like dead meat hooked in a butcher's shop.

"You want my honesty?" she said, monotone. "Like how Her Majesty and the captain required my honesty but called me a liar when I gave it to them?"

The word pricked the small of Roy's back like a needle; a tiny, throwaway thing, but still sharp and painful. He grimaced. "I didn't—" He wanted to remove the blame from himself, but how did that help Yuriko? It didn't. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It… it wasn't meant to happen like that."

"But it did." She steeled. "I thought… I thought we had trust, Your Highness."

He could feel his heart flinching at the words. "We do—"

"We _did_ ," she said, sharper this time, "until you decided I was some—some _spy_ for the rebels."

Broken trust. He knew it, he'd prepared for it, and still the impact crushed him like breathing jagged fragments of rock and stone. "Yes, it's true. But… but you're not the spy, and I know that now."

"But why?" she said. "Why would think I was a spy?"

He bit his lip. "It's a long story."

"I have all the time in the world."

But Roy shook his head. To indulge her in all the details was to drop a vat of toxic knowledge onto her burdened shoulders. "I… can't talk about it."

The shallow rising and falling of Yuriko's chest indicated that she was stirring with anger beneath her docile exterior. "Then we have nothing to talk about, Your Highness." She slipped his coat off and handed it back to him. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I must return to my room to pack."

He took the coat, if only to please her – her gentle jasmine scent clung to it if only as a reminder. Something coiled over his bones when she turned on her heels and ambled down the hallway.

"Yuriko, wait," he beseeched. " _Please_."

But she didn't, disappearing around the corner.

Even with Durante lumbering a few paces away, Roy felt hopelessly alone.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy spent the next hour worrying whether he should visit Yuriko or not, try again to get through to her and make absolutely sure she wasn't hurting inside. His stomach grumbling once more alerted him that he had missed breakfast, and called food up to his bedroom. Snacking on toast and jam, he aimlessly paced into his bathroom, if only to look at the Board.

New additions had been added. The stage fiasco with Camilla, who was less than likely to be responsible, but still there as a possibility, and a red _X_ over Blair Hunter's picture, to match the ones over the profiles of Cassia, Roxanne, Kiersten, and the mass eliminated girls.

Placing the plate of toast down on the floor, he grabbed a pen from the ebony side table. The events of today still shackled him to duty, and he pinned a note on the strange conversation with Skylar Davenport, as well as an _X_ over Yuriko's picture. She was innocent, and as good as eliminated, anyway.

No way could Roy leave this chasm between them. He had to fix things.

He had to tell her everything she wanted to know. She was already burdened with the knowledge of the spy – why _not_ fill in the details?

Finding muster from deep within himself, Roy quickly rang for a plate of sandwiches to be brought to his room. When they had, he retrieved the pieces of his aching soul and gathered himself outside Yuriko's door, armed with food. There were guards standing out front, which was probably Ji-Yu's doing. Roy dismissed them, watching them scatter, before knocking.

After a few moments, Yuriko opened the door. Her black hair was dry now, flowing to her waist in strides of midnight sky. A simple blue dress enveloped her, with a matching cardigan – the dressing gown was gone.

Roy quivered as he stood. The plate cooled his fingers.

"Hi," he greeted lamely.

Yuriko pressed her lips together, but mocked a weak curtsy. "How can I help you, Your Highness?"

Even in the wake of such events, she was still polite to her very bones. He could at least appreciate that whilst she no doubt disliked him in this moment in time, she wouldn't show it. He held up the tray of sandwiches.

"I… would like to talk to you," he said. "May I come in?"

Contemplating moments threw Roy's heart into a shiver.

Eventually, she opened the door further – to reveal a bare room, and a suitcase on the floor, open and half-stuffed with belongings.

"Come in."

Roy wasn't sure if it was the stowed items or just Yuriko's simple and elegant way of life that was because of her lack of decoration. Her bedside table was littered with photo frames. She'd come from a large family, it seemed. He counted nine identical people.

He tore his gaze away and focused on her, standing in front of him with a waiting frown. Nudging the sandwiches forwards, he said, "Are you hungry?"

Yuriko hesitated, but delicately plucked a sandwich from the tray and whispered, "Thank you."

It would've been awkward if not. He took one himself, nursing the cucumber and the cut crusts, and placed the tray on a trunk at the foot of her bed. Expecting to launch into a speech, he was surprised to see her creep over her open suitcase and open the doors to her balcony.

Cold air wetted the room, billowing her dress. Still, she must have endured, leaning over the balcony, cherishing each bite, watching the sun paint the land below in yellow and orange rays. Slowly, Roy came to join her, wincing against the chill.

"I'm here so I… so I can confess everything," he said. "Everything you need to know."

Yuriko didn't respond, and Roy took it as his cue. He told her the recent history of his life from the very beginning. Waking up that morning to find a Selection forced upon him, to finding out about the spy amongst his Selected, to trying to work out who was betraying him with the Board. To the secrets and strange comments, to the moments of doubt and moments of fear. To Iscariot, pinning blame on her and causing a domino effect that lead to this very moment.

Yuriko looked at him as if he'd spoken an alien language. "And you believed him? Iscariot?"

Roy finished his sandwich, if only to take a moment to think about his answer. "Yes. No. I wasn't sure— I was going to ask you _nicely_ , but… my mother got there first." Roy shook his head. "I am truly sorry, Yuriko. That wasn't fair to you, and I wish we hadn't acted so rashly."

She seemed to soften for the tiniest moment, a pause in the universe, but hardened once more. Alas, she returned her gaze to the bristling forest leaves and knolls rising from the land.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispered.

Another pause. For moments, Roy thought she would tell him to leave, to never see him again. To leave their relationship as broken eggshells and unhealed flesh.

But, after the longest time, a smile lifted her lips.

"Thank you." Her words were a lilt of harmony. "I appreciate it."

Relief filled Roy as his tension relinquished. He braced his arms on the bannister, watching the guards move like toy soldiers on an imaginary battlefield.

"Good." A short grimace curled her eyes, and he realised how curt he'd sounded. "Wait… that came out wrong. I just mean… I like being your friend."

"Friends?" she echoed, barely audible.

"Sure," he said, with a wink. "If I say so myself, I think a prince and a trapeze artist make for an excellent combination of pals."

She placed a hand on her lips to control her laugh. "Okay," she said. "Friends. I'd… like that."

Joy spread through Roy, like an infinite wealth from a fountain within him. Perhaps they had not re-established trust, but they had re-forged their connection, their friendship, to something stronger. Fractured bones healed anew.

Yuriko copied him, bracing her arms on the balcony. "I don't think… you and I would've worked for each other, anyway."

Roy turned to her sharply. "What? Why?" Was this the _irresponsibility_ chat again?

She faltered. "I… wouldn't particularly enjoy the process of making children."

Oh. _Oh_. Roy blanched and blushed all at once, mixing into a pink stripe across his face.

She continued. "Given that you would have to produce heirs for your royal lineage to continue…"

He decided in that moment that he wasn't particularly in tune with anyone's romantic preferences.

"You're... asexual?" he ventured.

"Yes, but that's only a label for my experiences with sexual _attraction_. I don't experience it, but it doesn't mean I can't or won't have sex," she clarified. "In actuality, I won't have sex because the idea of it repulses me. You see the difference?"

Sex-repulsed. He'd still had no idea, never clicked. Nonetheless, a question came to him, and he frowned.

"Yes, I see. Why'd you enter, then?"

Her lips formed a thin line. "To be honest, Your Highness, it was to see something outside of the circus. To meet new people, and explore new places." She turned fully to him, smiling weakly. "And I have been able to do so with great delight, thanks to your Selection. I have made many new friends, including you."

He felt weak in his heart. "I'm going to start crying if you don't stop."

Yuriko giggled again. It was good to hear her laugh – to hear her expressing a jovial side to her. A secret music only heard by people who deserved it.

"Well, then, you should know," Roy spoke, with an odd pride, "that friends don't call friends _Your Highness_."

She cocked her head, ever so slightly. "You want me to…?"

"Call me Roy."

She flushed, and her smile brightened. "Very well… Roy." She paused, as if tasting a new dish for the first time. "My friends… call me Kiko."

"Kiko?" The word was already familiar to him, pronounced _Keeko_. "Yeah, all right. Kiko."

For a few more moments, they stared out to onwards in silence. But Yuriko spoke, like breeze.

"It seems… a stressful life."

Roy barked a laugh. "You could say that again."

She clasped her hands together. "Are you… afraid? Of the idea of kinghood?"

A question that had skulked in the nook of his heart, always there at the back of his mind, tickling in the depths of his skin. He'd shooed it away like bothering flies on a bony carcass, never ready to tackle it face on. People called him irresponsible, _an irresponsible prince_ , and he'd always wanted to shy away when goings got tough – eliminations, the spy, even his Selection in general had forced him to confront the part of him that wanted freedom in a chained world. Maybe the root of all these problems had derived from this very question.

Now, after everything he'd been through so far, everything he'd endured and battled… he wasn't afraid.

He was terrified.

The grimace on his face must have spoken for him. Yuriko's quaint smile moved into something sympathetic.

"It's okay to be afraid," she said. "I'm sure… having the weight of a country on your shoulders can't be easy."

"It's not. No one expects me to do my job well," he whispered, fixing his gaze onto the horizon. "Not even I do."

She placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that spiralled warmth into him. "Naysayers don't know you. I do. And I say you have a lot of potential, Roy." She squeezed. "You just need to take it."

His skin fizzled, hoping her words were genuine and from the heart. There was time yet to improve, to grab that potential and use it. Perhaps, if he did, people would begin to see him for a prince, and not a boy.

"Thanks," he said. "I needed to hear that."

He drew a breath – but remembered; Yuriko was leaving through an unspoken agreement. He straightened and turned to her, and her hand fell to her side.

"Those… things you learnt," he said, "in the interrogation chamber. You're sworn to secrecy, but… let me compensate you for it."

She blinked. "Pardon?"

"Personally, not even I would want to have my mother breathing down my neck to keep something quiet, so… let me give you some money for it. Ease the pressure."

But Yuriko just smiled. "No, no, it's quite all right. Keep your money. Use it…" she paused, contemplating, "use it to find her."

The spy. A better use of his resources. At once, he could feel the money going to something better – at least, better it used to find the spy than squandered on ten vodkas at the Salt and Stars. It was all Roy could do to nod in silent thanks.

She twirled, her gown following her like ribbons of air. "I must finish packing."

He straightened off the balcony, taking in one last peer of the sunny skies around. "I'll leave you to it. You can have the rest of the sandwiches, too." He paused. "And I will say… you're dismissed _gracefully_ from my Selection."

She smiled and bowed her head ever so slightly. "Thank you. I will keep your secret."

He made to leave, stepping back into the breezeless chill of her bedroom and over her unpacked suitcase. By the door, he stopped and turned to her. "You'll keep in touch, won't you?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"I still haven't seen you trapeze."

A giggle came forth from her. "Then upon our next meetup, I shall bring my circus group with me, Roy."

"Sounds like a plan, Kiko."

And he left, feather light and more weightless than he had in weeks.

* * *

 **A/N:** Aw, a bittersweet ending. Hope you enjoyed it!

Heartfelt goodbye to Yuriko Sato. I adored her unusual character, but she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Big thanks to Ruby Casablanca for submitting her! If you readers hadn't chosen Yuriko to attend the Midknight dinner with Roy, how do you think things would change? I'd plotted a different outcome until I noticed that it wouldn't be so out of character for her to dismiss her guards...

So, I have news! **I will now update every five days**! Woo! I'm four chapters ahead in terms of writing, so I think I can manage. The next chapter, however, will be an exception, as I am hopping off to Italy for the weekend and won't be able to post. So your next update will be in four days! Yay! :D From then, I'll start the five-day schedule. :D

So yes! The Midknight arc has ended! Onto the next chapter of Roy's troubles...

Reviews loved! Favourites and follows also loved! Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to continue writing exciting content for you! :D

~ GWA

NTT: "You realise your rivalry stems from a release of _flatulence_... _fourteen_ years ago."

 **EDIT 10th AUGUST 2017:** I've realised that I imply that asexual = repulsion to/ unable to have sex, when this isn't the definition at all. My apologies for this; I've corrected it now.


	19. A Schreave Never Forgets

A week later after the worst elimination in Roy's life, after the worst attack he'd suffered through, and after the worst excuse for his absence ever, palace life had calmed down. The staff had returned to their usual rotations, the guards their normal patrols, the royal family their endless meetings and mountains of work.

Saboteur Jordan Iscariot had been moved from the Shell Wing to a Los Angeles prison facility. When re-questioned by Captain Delacroix, he'd admitted to lying about Yuriko's involvement with the rebels – a comment that could have saved Roy a lot of trouble – as well as being totally in the dark about the real identity of the spy and his mysterious email contact, codename Newton's Wife. With no further use, he was slipped out and away, never to stink up the hallowed hallways again. Roy could still see his ghost walking the corridors, taunting him with that ugly sneer.

Iscariot's capture never breathed a word to any of the press. However, of course, with Rainerd and Clarity snivelling through the fashion show with their eager cameras, and its gunman assailant debacle interruption, the entirety of Illéa knew about the increasing rebel movement and its effect on the palace.

Roy hadn't even bothered to read that paper. He knew everything it would say, anyway.

He'd spent the week writing speeches to say on the Capital Report, managing tax revenues, organising immigration reforms, filling out his new princely duties – which required far more work and privacy now that the gunman had been and gone – and just trying to keep his head screwed on. And his Selection, no doubt, continued.

No one asked to leave after the rebel attack. Roy figured the scared girls had been weeded out after the threat at the Midknight dinner, and the rest were made of stronger skin. Even Ferelith Riverly – the girl who had been crying when Roy went to visit her that day – had resolved to remain in the palace.

He'd only conversed quietly with the girls at mealtimes, too busy to make time for them since. But he had booked time in his schedule to sit in one of their classes. This time, a History of Politics class with Sashi. And today, he'd squeezed in ten minutes of his break to visit them to announce this.

"Announcing the arrival of His Highness, Prince Roy."

The doors to the Women's Room opened, embezzling Roy's vision with the crisp white furniture and decoration the Women's Room seemed to favour. Most of the girls were huddled around a piano, a soft tune wafting from the keys – and a cadence of song, of an extinct language, filling the room like gentle silk and ribbon dance.

They stopped dead, of course, when Roy entered, turning to him to curtsy. Roy spotted Natasha Barron on the piano, her fingers hovering over the keys, with a whole group of girls stood behind the piano, obviously the accompanying lyricists.

Roy grinned. "Nice playing, Natasha. Nice singing, ladies."

He should've noticed Maeve Reynolds first – towering above the rest of the girls. She pounded a hand to her heart. "You should see my dancing, too, Your Highness."

Roy blanched – the twerk-off! He'd nearly forgotten. He waggled his fingers. "Don't you worry, Maeve, they'll come a time when I'll beat you at twerking."

She boomed a laugh over the rest of the giggles. "And I'm still looking forward to absolutely trashing you."

He smirked. It was _so_ on… at another time. "Unfortunately, I haven't come to set the date."

He glanced quickly over the rest of the girls present – counting twenty. All of them were here, and whilst the piano and singing seemed to be the current occupation, he noticed Levinia Lefray tucked into one of the window seats somewhat a distance away, just watching.

Her eyes slid to meet Roy, and that stupid fuzzy feeling in his stomach churned. He ripped the gaze away, instead choosing to close his eyes and smile.

"I will be joining you in one of your forthcoming History of Politics classes, with Sashi."

A murmur passed through the group. He opened his eyes, automatically settling on Levinia, who had cocked an eyebrow.

"Just to see how everyone is doing, is all. After which," he grinned again, "I shall ask someone on a date. Not sure who. We'll see." He nodded, his plans announced. "I look forward to seeing you all then."

He left, entering the hallway and hearing the clamber of anticipation rise from the Women's Room. Wishing he could go back and spend time with them instead of working of stupid papers, Roy turned to the staircase, intending to return to his office in the West Wing.

"Prince Roy!"

That voice. Levinia Lefray.

Even shouting, Levinia had somehow managed to inject some form of wile and musk, something to make him stop and think, to turn around in curiosity. At the foot of the stairs, she walked – a sensual, slow saunter, enticing and obnoxious all at once, her dress diaphanous against her lethal frame, draping to expose skin wherever possible. It was dark colour, as if it were plucked from between the stars in a midnight sky.

It took a lot of willpower for Roy to keep his thoughts on her current predicament, rather than drifting to their kiss.

"How can I help you, Lady Levinia?" he asked.

She stopped a metre from him, her ginormous heel forcing him to tilt his head to look up at her.

"You seem… stressed," she said, a creamy texture to her words.

Oh, yes. _Stressed_ was too weak to describe him. A permanent ache had settled through his muscles that Roy couldn't dispel, no matter how many massages he went for. He gulped down a rising heat through his body.

"Quite," he said. "I think the class will help me destress."

Her hair, down and straight, caressed her waist like a waterfall as she tilted her head and simpered. "Or… _I_ can help you destress."

 _Destress_. Roy's body flared with heat, including his cheeks and chest. A destress session with Levinia sounded irrevocably intoxicating and horrific all at once, and his body clashed over mixed feelings like the tides of fresh and saltwater. He could already feel that ripple, that churning – telling him that the less-than-innocent saltwater was winning.

Perhaps her statement was wholly innocent. "You… can?" he said, realising too late that it was the stupidest thing to froth from his mouth.

She chuckled, probably at his dumbfounded expression, gently taking hold of his tie, and pulled Roy with her. Up a flight of stairs, to the Chateau Drawing Room, mercifully empty. The dark upholstery and cherry accented furniture just seemed to scream Levinia as she pulled him to the nearest sofa and pushed him to sit, straddling him.

 _Oh god, this again_. His ego tramped on his innocence, and when she kissed him fiercely and lustily, he didn't pull back. He could feel the cool metal of her ginormous gold necklace chain, encrusted with onyx stone.

Part of him had to wonder, at a totally inappropriate moment, _why_ Levinia liked to tease him and caress him with such finesse. Why, of all the things they could do together, she chose making out as her number one option. The other girls had attempted conversation with him first. Levinia went straight to the deep end.

Not that Roy ever objected to her needs, or his own.

The light still flickering in his conscience told him that this could all be ploy to make him her putty; an act that would benefit a spy. After all, she had promised to show him her _prowess_ in return for something he could offer her.

Her kiss fuelled something burning deep in his gut, rising through him like a dragon bursting through fire and sword. He couldn't resist holding, clutching, her waist with biting grip as she cupped his cheeks for a more eager, hungry taste, and a fire deep in his core ravaged him. And when he felt the wetness of her tongue dragging over his lips, he didn't complain, either, to opening his mouth – for only a second, did he sample the fierceness of her passion.

But she broke off, touching his forehead with her own, and smirked. "You're a naughty prince, aren't you?"

Dazed, Roy just tilted his head. The heat sizzling his cheeks was akin to a bonfire. "Very."

She smirked, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, loosening his tie. She dragged her fingers down his neck, as if knowing exactly where Roy's weak spots were, how to turn him on, and he moaned. She closed the gap between them, and found his lips once more.

A snick of wood broke them off.

Gail entered, her hand tucked neatly in Rudy's.

"—Selected said they heard Jun go in this direction, Wudy."

They both froze, staring, unhinged, Rudy with his eyes wide and face wan.

 _Oh no_. Roy immediately shoved Levinia off him, scrambling for a semblance of innocence – with the heat on his cheeks born anew, from lust to pure and deep-running embarrassment. He frantically adjusted his tie, his dishevelled and untucked shirt, his unbuttoned collar exposing his red neck. Levinia, too, made sure none of her dress fabric exposed too much of her. She, however, managed to control her blush.

"G-Gail!" Roy piped. "What… erm…"

"Roooooy!" Gail cocked her head. "Why was Levinia sitting on you?" She pointed. "There's chairs everywhere!"

Oh, god. _Oh, god_. If she ever went back to Ji-Yu or Merrick and reported this, he'd never live down his embarrassment so long as he lived. He burnt fiercer and brighter, probably able to stop traffic, and stumbled over his words.

"I… was…" he shot a glance at Levinia, and noticed the necklace. "I was fixing Levinia's necklace!"

An inflated pause. Gail widened her eyes – then grinned. "Good one, Jun!"

Rudy smothered a rising laugh that was about to wage war on his face. "Yes. Fixing a _necklace_." He bit his lip, but the hysterics were already winning over. "Good one, _Roy_."

It took a lot of willpower not to hide behind the sofas now. The midday sunlight streaming through the windows didn't help to accentuate the redness of his skin.

Gail pouted. "I could have fixed it for you, Levvy!"

 _Levvy_?

Levinia let out a laugh – a sound so earthly, so real and sweet, that Roy had to swivel to face her to check this was still the girl he'd been making out with seconds before. She crouched to Gail's level, prodding the necklace.

"Do you want to double-check it for me? I'm not sure your brother" – she slid her eyes to him and stuck out her tongue, in the most aesthetic way possible – "did a very good job."

Gail squealed and ran forwards, picking excitedly at the necklace. "I want one!"

Levinia giggled again. She sounded so natural, almost _motherly_. "How about we go to the jewellery department and see if they can make you one?"

Gail squealed again. "Yay! Yay!" She grabbed Levinia's hand and dragged her away – but not before Levinia could look over her shoulder, with that same raw smirk, and wink at Roy before she disappeared around the door.

Utter silence.

Then, Rudy burst out with laughter.

" _Fixing a necklace_!"

Roy pouted. "D-Don't laugh!"

Rudy's red ponytail flopped over his shoulder as he bent down to reel in his amusement, and he howled, "Oh, dear _lord_! I've never heard such nonsense in my life!"

Roy's cheeks singed again, and he quickly retied his tie and fixed his collar. "Hey, it worked on Gail, all right? She didn't suspect anything!"

A tear formed at Rudy's eye. "Oh, goodness. That has been my day made." He wiped the tears away. "You will never fail to amuse me, Your Highness."

Roy stuck out his tongue. "Just because _you_ wouldn't get away with that excuse." As far as he was aware, Rudy didn't wear gigantic jewellery, and his non-existent male companion wasn't likely to, either.

But Rudy grinned so wide his dimples creased. "Because I wouldn't be so stupid as to _get caught_."

 _Damn_. Roy grumbled. "Touché."

Rudy continued to chuckle to himself. Seeing a perfect opportunity for a subject change, Roy batted his embarrassment away and wiggled his eyebrows. "So, who would you notlike to _get caught with_ , eeeey?"

Rudy's amusement vanished like a magic trick, and he straightened. "Anyway, back to why Princess Gail was originally accompanying me here in the first place—"

"Oh, come on! There's _no one_ that catches your eye? Not even a hot guard?"

"No."

Roy feigned a flustered look, draping himself over an armchair and fanning himself. "How about the _gallantly_ stoic Officer Durante? He knows _the secret_ now."

A pause from Rudy as his eye twitched, and his frown deepened – but there was, perhaps, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. " _No_."

Roy sat up. "Maybe we should have an all-male Selection for you. Then you could marry, adopt, and rename all your children after me—"

"His Majesty has requested your presence in his office," Rudy cut through, sighing. Probably fed up with Roy's attempts to pair him with someone, or before he could become any more embarrassed himself. "It isn't urgent."

What did Merrick want now? At least, since the attack, his office had been repainted and furnished again, meaning he no longer had to traipse downstairs after board meetings.

"I see. Why was Gail with you?"

Rudy cleared his throat. "Her Highness was looking for someone to play with." He smirked. "I'm sure she got more than what she bargained for."

If Gail ever grew up and remembered that time… she would soon realise that Roy was doing anything but fixing Levinia's necklace.

Blushing furiously again, he groaned, "Touché," and narrowed his eyes at Rudy. "Don't think this is over. I still think you're hiding a secret paramour." He punched the air. "Detective Roy is on the case! And if you're not hiding one, it means you're single, in which case…" he punched the air again, " _Matchmaker_ Roy is on the case!"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "Of course, Your Highness." His lips snagged at the corner again. "Would you like an escort to His Majesty's office in case you are accosted by another Selected? Or will you be able to withhold your, ahem, _desires_?"

Another burn so frightening Roy couldn't conjure and comeback.

"Revenge will be sweet, Rudy," he said, pushing passed his sniggering butler. "Revenge will be _sweet_."

Rudy didn't bother replying, only bowing courteously – still with the insufferable smirk – and heading the opposite way down the corridor. If there was a secret lover of Rudy's, the truth wouldn't stay hidden for long. And if there wasn't, that was also fine. Roy could find someone. He rubbed his hands together, concocting several traps for Rudy as he made his way to Merrick's office.

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Merrick was pouring over a thick book by the time Roy entered his office. Much hadn't changed – the layout was the same, with an ebony desk surrounded by shelves and cabinets, and large floor-to-ceiling windows lead to a balcony, overlooking the gardens. Gail had supplied Merrick with a herd of new bad drawings, but he'd happily stuck them everywhere, giving his bland office a pop of colour.

Roy knocked. "You summoned me, oh great wizard?"

Merrick's head snapped up, his reading glasses jumping, and he laughed. "I did, my grovelling apprentice."

"I am definitely _not_ an apprentice, and I am definitely _not_ grovelling," he said, sticking out his tongue. Today just seemed to be _insult Roy_ day.

Merrick chuckled, removing his glasses and gesturing to the seat opposite. "Sit down, Roy."

The new velvet chair warily reminded Roy of the tiered seats at Vana's fashion show, and a pang of guilt pricked him. If only he could go back in time, enjoy the festivities whilst they had lasted.

"What did you want?"

Merrick frowned. "Can I not just ask how my son is?"

Roy blinked at the statement. This meant something suspicious was afoot. "Well… sure. I'm all right."

Merrick continued to frown. "You haven't seen your Selected much this week, have you?"

Ah, this. Roy crunched down on his guilt and shrugged. "I haven't had time," he admitted. "I've been piled with work and princely… things." Given that Merrick had helped to assign these _princely things_ , it was a wonder he even needed to ask.

But he nodded, placing a finger over his chin, and staring into space. "When I was your age—"

"Fifty-thousand years ago."

"—you never _had_ time for your Selected. You _made_ time." He gave Roy a pointed look. "I know you're busy, son, but try not to neglect them. Some will become restless."

Roy grimaced, thinking back to the attack. Not a single girl _hadn't_ been restless on that day, eager for an all-clear, eager for safety within the palace walls. He huffed.

"If you must know, I'm going to one of their classes next week. A History of Politics Class. And then," he adjusted his tie with a smirk, "I'll ask one of them on a date."

Merrick nodded with a prideful grin. "Excellent! Good to see you're taking initiative. And what good timing, too."

Roy narrowed his eyes. Timing? "What do you mean?"

Merrick shut the book he was reading and braced it on the desk for Roy to read the front cover. It was an old thing, hardcover, bound in buckram and yellowing at the edges of the pages. There were no illustrations on the front, betraying its contents. Just the title, in bold and capitalised letters: _UNITED KINGDOM COMMONWEALTH: A HISTORY_.

Ice swallowed Roy's veins. _UKC_ history? He jerked his head at the book.

"Why are you reading a history book on the United Kingdom Commonwealth?"

"I was searching," said Merrick, putting the book down – a wave of dust rolled off as the buckram slapped the desk, "for a UKC national holiday that we could celebrate."

Roy's heart beat faster, crashing against his ribs. No. It couldn't be.

"You didn't answer the question, Dad," he muttered. "Why the _UKC_?"

Merrick seemed to catch all of Roy's uncomfortable cues, and his shoulders shrunk with his exasperated smile. "For two things. One: so we can organise a ball on the upcoming Bonfire Night."

Roy had never heard of Bonfire Night, so he had to assume it was a UKC holiday celebrated in November. Nonetheless, it didn't sound too bad. If it involved huddling around a fire, roasting marshmallows for s'mores, he thought it would be a fun idea to base a ball around.

Still, the anticipation seized him. "And the second?"

Merrick's face scrunched together. "Please don't freak out."

Oh god. No. _No_.

Merrick drew in a breath. "Your Aunt Philippa is coming to visit, all the way from the United Kingdom Commonwealth." He cringed. "And… so are your cousins… Alexander and Barnabas."

An avalanche of welled up pain and anger toppled onto Roy. The air left Roy's lungs, leaving a coiling snake to squeeze him into a breathless, wheezy state.

No. _No_. The worst-case scenario had come true.

Roy had come to accept that he was related to many horrible people, if only he take a gander at his family tree.

But nothing, no one, not a soul on this planet was worse… than Princes Alexander and Barnabas Windsor. He would rather gut himself and sacrifice a foot than have to come face-to-face with his unbearable and douchey twin cousins.

He shook his head – slowly, at first, then rapidly like gunfire. He thought he'd never have to see those two jerkwads again. He thought he'd be free of them once they turned eighteen, and had officially grown into their titles as Princes of the United Kingdom Commonwealth.

Merrick frowned, hard. "Oh, Roy. It's not that bad."

" _Not that_ _bad_?" Roy flung himself up and crossed his arms. "May I remind of you of the Day of the Incident?"

Merrick scrunched his forehead, thinking – then, his eyes widened, and he palmed his face. "Oh, no…"

"Christmas Day!" Roy recited. "I was five. Aunt Decadence, Aunt Philippa, Cousins Alex and Barney, plus all of Mother's side of the family, at our table. Alex and Barney were seven, and older than me a fair bit in maturity and responsibility."

Merrick dared peer at Roy through his fingers. "I know the story, son."

If he really _did_ know it, he wouldn't have invited them back. Roy cleared his throat. Time for the kicker.

"The gravy gets to Alex, and he rips the biggest fart in the history of farts."

Merrick opened his mouth to speak, but Roy cut him off. "And then he and his _lackey_ Barney blame _me_ for it! The entire table laughs, including _you_ , and I haven't lived it down since!"

Merrick straightened in his seat, taking a deep breath. "You realise your rivalry stems from a release of _flatulence_ … _fourteen_ years ago."

"A Schreave never forgets."

"I'm a Schreave," Merrick replied with an exasperated sigh. " _I've_ forgotten."

Alex and Barney hadn't. Just when Roy thought it was erased from memory, Alex liked to taunt Roy about it every time he popped over, or every time Roy found himself wallowing in Buckingham Palace for a week-long visit.

Merrick had probably expected this reaction, hence why he told Roy alone and ahead of time, and he sighed. "Regardless, they're coming over next week, for a week's visit. You should be able to… calm down by then." He smiled. "We haven't seen the boys in years. I find them to be very lovely, and I'm sure they've matured from their silly jokes."

Roy had the unfortunate pleasure of following them on every social media. Chirper. Instagraph. And by what he could tell by their content – no, they were still petty, stuck-up, and vain. Selfies galore.

It resonated through Roy, and he shivered. "I take it the Bonfire Ball is in their honour?"

"Oooh!" Merrick piped. "The Bonfire Ball! That's a good name." He scribbled it down on a scrap piece of paper. "But, yes, the ball is in their honour. To celebrate our ongoing friendship with the people of the UKC. And since we missed Halloween, we should make it fancy-dress!"

A visit, both for diplomatic and leisurely purposes. This palace was where his Aunt Philippa grew up, after all, as Merrick's older sister. Roy groaned. Now he had to think of ways to avoid them all week.

"So," Merrick began again. "Inform your Selected to start thinking of costume ideas, and start thinking of one for yourself."

He would have to out-do them in everything. Roy had the time, the resources – this palace was his home, the people were his, and he would make sure he would destroy them in every match of wits they would engage in, every prank they would concoct. There would be no teaming up against him. He ran solo, quick and fleeting.

"Fine," Roy said. "But, in return, for enduring them, you owe me."

Merrick must have found the deal quite good. "All right," he said with an easy smile.

When the time came to it, Roy would conquer.

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 **A/N:** Short chapter after those last two long ones, but I hope you enjoyed it! I can't wait to introduce you to Roy's cousins, lol. I think I shall dub this chapter of Roy's life... the Twinces arc.

 **New poll is up**! You need to be on desktop/ the desktop version of mobile to view it! No set close date! It harkens to my seriousness as a serious writer, and has an extremely serious outcome regarding this fanfiction. It is so serious, your minds may be blown by the sheer seriousness of it. Seriously.

Thanks for reading! Next chapter actually has some worldbuilding! And a certain date... ;) Now off to eat my body weight in gelato. :D

~ GWA

NTT: "So they married, and made the best decision ever. To create _me_."


	20. Dates and Drama

Shy of a week later, the news of the incoming British party and their honoured ball had spread throughout the palace, and preparations were underway. In just a few short days, Alex and Barney's snotty faces would be thrust upon Roy once more. Roy had taken every precaution: he'd stacked his bathroom filled with ready-to-eat meals, in case they locked him in; he'd had all his suits tailored to work both outside-in and inside-out, so if there was a unfortunate surface spillage of ketchup in his direction, Roy could simply switch in a moment's notice.

He'd even gone so far as to create code with Rudy, his only friend on the matter. It wasn't to say Rudy hadn't ever had pleasant experiences with them – he just knew how awful they were behind everyone's backs.

"When I say _crumpets_ , you make up an excuse to get me out of there."

"… Dear _lord_."

For now, it was time to put those thoughts away, tuck them into the basket of Roy's mind. Waiting outside of Sashi's classroom for the Selected's biweekly History of Politics class.

In the Amendment Wing, on the ground floor below the West Wing, the windows, laced with beautiful curlicue carvings, allowed a flow of clean light from the garden beyond, creating parallelogram patterns on the spotted carpets.

The Selected girls had lined up outside a small door, armed with notepads and fancy fountain pens. Roy had nothing – he figured he didn't need to take notes – and shoved his hands into his pocket, joining the back of the queue in the corridor.

"Good morning, ladies," he said, to the girls at the back.

It was easy to recognise Torrence Whitley, her hair pinned beneath her headscarf, and her multi-coloured dress layering her in several shades of blue. She smirked pointedly at Roy, but curtsied deeply.

"Your Highness."

Next to her, Ferelith Riverly curtsied hurriedly, a sweeping blush overrunning her face. Her breezy, pastel-blue dress was a stark contrast to the autumn leaves outside, and her blonde hair was braided down her shoulder.

She couldn't meet his eye when she said, "Y-Your Highness! It's lovely to see you!"

The last girl, Elise Belmont, grinned. Her dress reminded Roy of a schoolgirl's attire, appropriate for the occasion, with a lacy white shirt covered in a navy pinafore, and white tights and white pumps. It looked like she'd attempted to pin her messy hair in a bun, but strands of deep brown broke free from the tie.

"Good morning, Your Highness!" she chirruped. "Ready to learn some history?"

Roy smirked. "Learn it? I already know it."

Torrence smirked. "As expected of the crown prince."

Now he did have to make sure he knew everything. This class, though, was for them – not him, so he wasn't worried too much about being put on the spot.

"I think," Ferelith began, flustered all the way to her neck, "we're going over your family tree today, Your Highness."

Roy pressed his lips together. He hoped, with every bone in his body, that is was the good parts – not the bad. He'd had enough of a lecture from Iscariot about what Roy's ancestors had done.

Elise clapped her hands together, and her eyes sparkled. "That sounds so interesting!"

Torrence, meanwhile, mirrored Roy – but not for the same reasons. "I would've liked to have studied political structure today. That's a subject I'm well-versed in."

"You don't like family trees?" Elise said, frowning.

"Not particularly." She slid her eyes to Roy, and the hint of a flirty smirk rose to her face. "Though I'm sure yours is _exquisitely fascinating_ , Your Highness."

Roy wasn't sure he appreciated her tone, but nodded.

"Well," Elise said, lifting up a grin, "I think they're great! And yours goes back so many generations, Your Highness! There's so much history to delve into! So many people to learn about!"

The quietest snort came from Torrence's mouth, and she rolled her eyes, unbeknownst to Elise. Roy snapped his attention to her, now was certain he didn't appreciate her tone, but neither Elise nor Ferelith seemed to notice, so for now he let it slide.

The door at the front creaked open. Sashi popped her head out, her loose hair falling down the frame in waves of chocolate.

"Everyone present?"

"Yes!" girls piped.

Sashi grinned and opened the door wider, and the Selected girls bustled inside. Torrence swept her judging gaze, and Elise linked arms with Ferelith and whispering nonstop about something. Roy slunk in after them, keeping his hands in his pocket.

Sashi, herself, wore a red-and-gold sari, tucked and draped around her in swathes of pleated fabric. A brooch, nearly smothered by her hair, glittered on her lapel, the shape of many pieces of rope tied together in a knot. Roy had seen Merrick wear something similar, and he had to assume it was part of an in-joke from his Selection.

"Ah, Your Highness," she greeted, nodding. "Welcome to History of Politics. Sit anywhere you like."

The classroom was a petite room, painted in cream, with several two-person desks ordered in rows, in front of the teacher's desk and an old whiteboard. Pen marks from their previous classes hadn't been wiped away, leaving a crude impression of the map of Illéa in red and blue swirls. The windows, pinned with motivational sticky notes, overlooked the separate outhouses opposite.

The girls had scattered between the desks. Maeve Reynolds and Sherlock Graves were seated at the very back, probably because their gigantic heights blocked the short girls from view. Levinia Lefray strummed her long, black fingernails on the desk, seated to a rather heated Chiara Romani-Carriedo – she, in turn, leant over to Regina Landowski, who was eagerly writing in her notepad already. Elise and Ferelith had moved to sit near the front.

Ambrosia Nichols sat alone nearer the middle-left, attempting to squeeze words out to Natasha Barron on the desk in front. It wasn't the only seat available, but given how shy Ambrosia was, maybe this was his chance for her to open up.

Roy sauntered through the seats – feeling each girl go rigid as he passed – and finally slipped into the seat by Ambrosia. "Is this seat taken?"

She, like he'd expected, froze, suddenly red and interested in the notepad in front of her. "N-No, go ahead, Your Highness."

He had to smile. It was rather endearing, more than anything.

"Thanks," he whispered. "If you don't know the answer, let me know."

She wordlessly nodded, unable to match his gaze. Roy still had to wonder how Ambrosia was a world-class model when she could hardly face his direction.

Next to Natasha, Delia Colestrist turned in her seat. "Hi, Your Highness," she greeted. Her dark hair weaved through a gold wreath headband .

He nudged his head towards the map of Illéa. "You're a painter, right? I hope that wasn't an exhibition of your skill."

She let out a laugh. "No! I'd like to think I could draw better than Ms Bhattacharya… then again, I _would_ need a reference…"

Sashi shut the door and found her desk, gathering a host of multi-coloured board pens and a board eraser. "Settle down, class." She spoke the words in a deadpan teacher voice – before grinning. "I know you're all nervous because our dashingly handsome prince has come to join us, but there's no need to inflate his ego any bigger than it already is."

The girls giggled. Roy stuck his tongue out, and Sashi grinned wickedly before turning to the whiteboard and uncapping the red pen.

"So, as we've discussed, today will be about the history of the royal family, and the family tree."

Smacking the eraser against the map, and attempting to rub the pen off, Sashi drew two boxes. She twisted around.

"Let's start at the very beginning. After World War Four, who re-established our country to what it is today?"

Torrence's hand shot up immediately. Elise, too, waved her hand in the air, bouncing in her seat. Most other girls also raised their hands. It was an easy question, to be fair.

Ambrosia, however, did not – she seemed to be turning redder with each moment.

Sashi shrugged. "All right. Call out the answer."

"Gregory Illéa!"

"Very good."

She added it to the board, also adding his wife, Bethany, and eldest daughter, Katherine. Then, she added another pair of blank boxes.

"All right," Sashi said, turning back to them again. "Now, who can name Gregory's eldest son?"

Less hands raised this time. Torrence, again, kept her arm erect and poised the entire time – meanwhile, Elise waved hers, eager to let the answer pass from her lips.

Sashi placed the pen to her lips. "Hmm… let's see…" Her eyes rounded on Roy, and she grinned. "Prince. What's the answer?"

Roy smirked. Sashi had quizzed him in her garage over a week ago, about the name of Gregory Illéa's son. He'd made sure to find out before today, so if she was going to ask again, he'd be ready.

Tense eyes settled on him. He leant back in his chair, crossing his arms and mirroring her grin. "Spencer Illéa." His great ancestor.

"Very good. Then you should also be able to tell me Gregory's _youngest_ son's name."

And Roy drew a blank.

"Er…"

Like a mouse, Ambrosia cleared her throat and squeaked, "D-Damon," she squeaked.

"Damon Illéa," Roy pronounced.

"Very good… Lady Ambrosia," Sashi said.

Ambrosia let out the tiniest giggle as the other girls laughed. Roy sat back forwards and pouted. "You put me on the spot, Sashi."

"And I only do so," she looked to the girls with a caring smile, "to remind all of you girls that even our own royal family can't quite remember everything at times, and it's okay to forget things. They're far from perfect—"

"I resent that."

"—and neither should you worry that you have to be perfect, too."

A cheerful, positive response to the words. Roy relaxed into his seat, knowing that at least the Selected girls seemed to be enjoying themselves in class. No wonder Merrick had asked Sashi to return to organise his Selected.

"Now, let's see…" Sashi continued with the class. "How about we focus on a dark period in the royal line… the assassination of Justin Illéa. Who instigated this act?"

Tuning out the class, having heard it all before in his own tutoring lessons, Roy leant over to Ambrosia. "Hey, thanks for earlier."

She stiffened, but managed to turn her head to face him. "Y-You're welcome. It didn't do much for you, really…"

"Pffft. Sashi would have kept on going until she caught me out for her worthwhile metaphor." He winked. "You did plenty to help."

A blush frenzied over her pale face, blistering so hot Roy could feel it from the distance between them. She smiled meekly, her dark blue eyes shining with weak pride. "Y-You're welcome." She flushed more furious. "Oh, I've already said that."

Roy couldn't resist a chuckle. "You know, if you know the answer, you should speak up."

Her cheeks pinched together – in that moment, Roy could see why she was a model. Her face was so photogenic he could scarcely believe he was staring at a real person.

"What if I'm wrong?"

He shrugged. "Then you're wrong. We're all learning, here. It's okay to be wrong."

He'd been wrong that he could remain distanced from his Selected, that the rebels were so far away from his own reality, that Yuriko Sato was the spy. Times when he needed to be absolutely right, that didn't concern isolated classroom experiences, but the country and the real world.

She bit her lip, contemplating, before nodding and turning her attention back to the whiteboard.

Sashi continued to pelt the class with family tree questions, scribbling names as rough additions to the family tree. They'd managed to get through a few generations now.

"How about the tragedy of the Koskinen line?" Sashi said, with a frown. "Can anyone elaborate?"

Torrence's hand shot up once more, followed by Elise's. Sashi flickered her hand to Elise – Roy glanced at Torrence, and her lips had formed a thin line on her face.

Elise settled into her seat, the same frown overrunning her. "It's really quite sad. Queen Eadlyn Schreave de Koskinen, her husband, Prince Eikko, plus their two daughters Kerttu and Hilja, were assassinated during a family holiday in Greece." She paused, as if to let everyone soak this in. "This crippled the royal line. As such, Eadlyn's younger brother, Kaden Schreave, and his wife, Josephine, were required to uptake the crown and continue in their stead."

It pained Roy to think about how an entire family could be wiped out. He spoke. "And it is considered a tragedy because not only were the Koskinens expecting a _third_ child, but their deaths meant the end of the Koskinen line before it even really began, returning the royal name to the Schreaves."

Roy had to wonder what he would be like if they had lived, if he were a descendant of Eadlyn Koskinen, rather than Kaden Schreave. If his name was _Jun Fitzroy Koskinen_ , and he was partly Swendish.

Sashi nodded. Indeed, a snowfall of sombreness had fallen on the classroom. "Yes. To add fuel to the fire, Eadlyn's parents, Maxon and America, were still alive at the time." She noted down all of their names onto the family tree. "The event, however, triggered a downfall in America's health that eventually led to her death, closely followed by Maxon… too broken-hearted to continue."

A very sad end to a family. Roy felt a twinge of remorse – he couldn't help but wonder what their lives were like.

"Thankfully," Sashi said, with a warmer voice, "Kaden and Josephine continued the royal line dutifully. Leading to…?"

This time, Torrence didn't even bother raising her hand. "Triton Schreave."

"Correct," Sashi said warily – probably not pleased with Torrence's outburst. "And he married…?"

This time, Camilla Daugherty raised her hand. As this history reached closer to Roy's, no doubt, more people would start to contribute.

"Yes?" Sashi said.

"Janice Schreave," Camilla said. "She reinstated the absolute monarchy after Eadlyn's plight to change it to constitutional, as well as reintroducing the caste system."

Another move that was frowned upon by a large majority. Roy thought that perhaps the move had reignited the rebel movement, leaving them where they were today.

"Indeed." Sashi wrote this down. "Her son was…?" She glanced to the back. "Lilly?"

Roy shifted to face them. Lilly Carter and Eulalia Shields had their own desk at the very back, probably so their signing wasn't a distraction to the others. Lilly signed to Eulalia, and Eulalia cleared her throat.

"Lilly says Galloway Schreave." She paused. "And he found his wife, Diantha, during his Selection."

Roy's grandmother.

A hardened sadness seemed to sweep Sashi, and she paused for moments. "Ah, yes. Diantha Schreave. I remember her and Galloway well."

 _Funny, that_ , Roy thought. He'd never had the chance to meet them – both had died before he was born. Galloway through drink, and Diantha through going mad. His parents rarely talked about them, either, leaving them to be the most mysterious pair on his recent family tree. Even history books talked little of their accomplishments.

He shuddered, hoping the _going mad_ wasn't an inherited trait. Perhaps the crown drove people to do strange things.

Sashi inhaled a long breath, expelling her sadness. She sweetened like sugar. "So, now, you should all be able to answer this. Galloway and Diantha had three children. The first…?" She indicated to Avianna DeLaurence.

"Decadence Schreave, now a von Habsburg," she said with a grin. "Married into the royal line in Austria."

"The second?"

Elise's turn again. "Philippa Schreave, who married into the United Kingdom Commonwealth line, and became a Windsor."

And gave birth to those menaces Roy had to withstand every family gathering.

"And the last…?" She smirked. "I think His Highness can answer this."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Merrick Schreave, who chose my mo— er, _Kim Ji-Yu_ , in his Selection. So they married, and made the best decision ever." He fanned himself dramatically. "To create _me_."

Sashi cocked an eyebrow.

"And?"

"… And Gail."

The girls laughed again. Even Torrence managed a smile.

"And here we are." Sashi wrote Roy and Gail's names, finally, on now a crude illustration of his family tree, right from the beginning. "And you girls… one of you will be the next name to add."

The prospect blanketed them, switching on nerves. There was a whispering fuss, and collective fidget and a shiver of worries. Roy swallowed, feeling an electric pulse trickle through him. He was nowhere close to choosing who was the One for him. He wasn't even close to choosing his Elite – there were still ten more girls to eliminate before then.

And the spy, of course. But right now, he really didn't want to think about that.

"There's actually quite a lot of talk about genes in the sovereign. The Schreave line was famous for deep brown eyes, like chocolate," Sashi spoke, interrupting the ripple of chaos. "Until a blue, like a morning sky, was introduced by America Schreave. This ended up prominent in Kaden's line, and it's now been a staple ever since. King Merrick even has green eyes." She grinned. "Although now it's gone back to brown."

Why people cared about genes was beyond Roy, but apparently, fanatics were desperate to understand the royal traits as if they were treasures to be preserved. Science told Roy that he had the gene for blue and green eyes now, too. Maybe his own children would bring that back.

Even though he quite liked eyes like chocolate, he quipped, "Sorry to disappoint you all," earning a chuckle from the girls.

"And obviously," Sashi continued, "Her Majesty introduced New Asian roots into the Schreave line. But, Roy here also has some Hispanic in him."

Roy blinked. Which royal was that from, again?

"It should also be noted," Sashi said – she'd taken on an unusual pointed tone, uncharacteristic of her, "that the Schreave line was also very white for several generations."

A strange comment to make, and the room had gone silent. Roy mustered his voice, adding a laugh. "Is being mixed a problem?"

Sashi just smiled, her eyes glossing over. Folding into her mind. "There was a time when even that was an offensive thing, Roy. Trust me. Be lucky you live in a modern, inclusive world."

Roy had definitely never heard of such a thing in his history, and question marks rolled around in his head. He just stared at her, waiting for elaborate, but before he knew it, she had rubbed the entire tree off the whiteboard and was handing out tests sheets for a surprise quiz.

"O-Oh no," Ambrosia whispered, more to herself.

Ignoring the matter for now, Roy placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Hey, relax. You'll do fine."

She flushed again – it was only until Sashi placed an exam in front of _him_ that he recoiled. Lines upon lines of questions, with blank boxes for answers, printed the page.

"Erm, what's this?"

She paused. "You're in my classroom, aren't you?" Not waiting for him to reply, she fixed him with a lazy grin. "Then you'd better get at it, Roy."

His bottom lip turned upwards. "But I'm the prince."

Sashi's smile only stretched. "Then I expect you to earn the highest marks, _prince_." She waved her stack of test papers. "And you'll be coming back here for another lesson if you don't."

Both Natasha and Delia sniggered in front of him, and even Ambrosia squeaked a chuckle. So much for _even royals forget_. He grumbled, accepting the test by taking a pen from Ambrosia to use.

After fifteen minutes of pure silence, the test finished. Roy ended up placing third, behind equal placers for first, Torrence and Elise. He figured both of them could do a better job writing about the history of his family than he could – probably even better than Merrick could. He wasn't sure if Sashi would snitch to Ji-Yu, who would no doubt make him return to instil history into his head. Alas, she didn't comment when she handed his test back.

"Not bad, everyone," said Sashi, returning to the seat at her desk. "You've all improved your marks since the last test. Though maybe someone else," she glanced at Roy, "had something to do with that."

His presence helped their test scores? Great.

"Next class," continued Sashi, "we'll be looking more into the constitutional monarchy versus and absolute monarchy, given how the Schreaves have switched and changed between the two in history."

Shakily, Ambrosia raised her arm. Roy had to withhold his surprise.

Even Sashi's eyes had widened. "Yes, Ambrosia?"

"I… erm…" She gulped. "I wonder what the difference between them was?"

A soft snort rippled through the room – Roy discreetly side-glanced at the source, discovering it was, again, from Torrence. She'd pinched her cheeks in disgust, shaking her head at Ambrosia.

Elise grinned, turning to her. "Oh, I can help you with that! An absolute monarchy—"

"Hold on, now," Sashi cut across, with a relaxed smile. "How about we make that your homework? Everyone must write me two paragraphs about the basic differences between a constitutional and absolute monarchy, with examples?" She rounded to Ambrosia. "Sound good?"

Ambrosia looked like she'd heard Torrence's apathetic scoff, as her face had turned beetroot red in embarrassment. She nodded, staring hard at the desk.

With that said, Sashi dismissed them all for lunch.

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Sun burst into the classroom, and Roy could feel his stomach tickling him for food. He returned his pen to Ambrosia with his thanks, also intending to tell her not to worry about Torrence's attitude – but she blushed madly, choking out a thanks and scampering from the room. He was going to have to talk to her later… maybe, help with her homework.

Most of the other girls, however, stayed to chat between each other. Each seemed to have her own clique, now. Maeve and Sherlock were surrounded by people, and Elise was the chittering to Ferelith and Avianna's listening ears. Persephone Cahill and Luna Bellini-Torres seemed to pal around, too, ever since their double-meeting with Roy on the first day. Riley zipped between groups, a pen between her ear.

Torrence, Roy wasn't surprised to see, gathered her pens and notebook alone, before making to stride out with her head held high.

He caught her in the corridor. "Lady Torrence!"

She froze at his voice, turning on her heel. Her face crafted into a winning smile. "Your Highness," she said, bowing her head. "Have you come to ask me something?"

He'd told the girls before that he intended to ask someone on a date after class. She must have thought it was that. He gulped.

"Yes," he said. "Why…" he chose the words carefully, "why did you scoff at Ambrosia?"

The other girls were still in the classroom. No doubt, they were probably pressing their eager ears to the wall to hear the conversation better.

Torrence, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow. "You misunderstand my resignation, Your Highness," she said. "I just don't believe people take this Selection seriously if they don't already know the basics of constitutional and absolute monarchies."

Roy blinked – a good answer. But… spoken from a high horse.

"It's a class. People are here to learn."

"The very basics should already be known. It's general knowledge."

Roy knit his eyebrows together. "You're missing the point. That's twice you've made out to embarrass someone. Your fellow Selected."

Her forehead creased. "I haven't _embarrassed_ anyone." She tilted her head, looking up at Roy along the bridge of her nose. "I have expressed my feelings. Is that a crime?"

"No, but it's not exactly _kind_ , either," Roy countered. "I don't think I'd like to be with someone who wasn't, at the very least, kind to her friends."

A flash of anger sparkled in her eyes, and she clutched her notepads tighter. "They are not my friends. They are my competition." She paused. "Are you eliminating _me_ , Your Highness?"

Now it was a no-brainer.

"Yep. You may stay for lunch, but after which, please pack your bags and leave."

Her face washed with anger, blood fury. She stomped her foot on the ground. "How— How _dare_ you!" she snapped. "I have been an exemplary candidate!"

"If you think _exemplary_ is judging your fellow Selected and laughing at their mistakes, then the last thing I want in my palace is _exemplary_."

In a movement swift, Torrence slammed her notepad down onto the ground. "And the last I would have ever wanted was a _vile_ , _alcoholic_ _boy_!"

Roy blanched – his mouth agape. Torrence let out a huff before swirling on her heel and storming down the corridor. He stared after her, unable even to defend his honour. He stilled his shaking hands, his rumbling heart, as she bundled her discourse and left with it.

Hopefully never to be seen again.

He shoved down her negative energy deep into himself, and attempted to regain a morsel of his courage – he did _still_ have to deliver on asking a girl to date.

He turned – Riley, Avianna, and Elise had poked their heads around the corner, with Sashi towering over them with equal intrigue.

"That was… messy…" she mumbled, still watching the space that Torrence had thrown down her notebook.

"I'm okay," said Roy, blowing out a sigh. Well, at least, it was one more person that could be the spy gone. Torrence was from Honduragua, too, so the chances were tripled on her accessibility alone.

Sashi stepped out in the corridor, the other girls dead silent within the confines of the classroom. Roy could hear then passing whispers between them, and an awkward tension had arisen like a fog. He had to adjust his collar from the heat rising on his neck.

Trying to alter the mood, he smirked. "Well, that could have gone better."

Sashi chuckled, easing the tightening cords in his gut.

"You want to chat about it? Selectee to Selecter?" said Sashi, picking up Torrence's notepad.

He shook his head. "I'm all right. Really." He grinned. "It's safe. You can all come out now."

Even so, the girls exited with stiff walks. It was comforting, at least, that the majority gave him reassuring words and sympathetic smiles, even if they were words he'd heard a thousand times before and smiles that faded once far enough away.

The last to leave, Lilly and Eulalia, paused next to him. Lilly placed a hand on his arm, a Roy felt his nerves spritz at the delicacy of her touch. Lilly didn't speak, so her gesture and kind smile meant everything. Endearing, really, that she could communicate so much in such tiny movement.

She broke off, and ambled down the corridor, Eulalia hurrying behind. Roy, seeking the opportunity, came into step with them.

"Hey," he said, suddenly finding himself breathless.

Lilly halted in the corridor, squeaking in shock. Equally, Eulalia jerked to a stop.

"Oh, hello!" she piped. "How can I— er, _we_ help you, Your Highness?"

He _had_ said he needed to choose a girl to date. Why not Lilly?

"Tomorrow," he said, still drinking in shallow breaths, as if he'd run. "Are you free tomorrow lunchtime?"

Lilly nodded instantly, beaming like a blooming flower. Eulalia nocked her head towards her, not even needing to translate the eagerness.

Roy nodded, suddenly finding himself beaming along with her. "Good. How about a picnic? We have a greenhouse outside of the East Wing that we can repurpose for a date."

Lilly, again, nodded, clasping her hands together. As if, perhaps, all her dreams were coming true. Roy could have asked to take her to Disneyland and he figured her reaction would be the same.

Eulalia slid her eyes from Lilly with a smirk. "We'll be there."

 _We_. The one problem with their dates. Eulalia was always going to be there. He'd thought about this before – that he'd never truly be able to talk with Lilly unless he learnt Illéan Sign Language. He wasn't sure how difficult it was, but he supposed if things went well for them, the least he could do was give it a shot.

"Good. Then… I'll be outside your door at twelve."

Lilly, again, didn't need this translated, nodding and biting her lip in anticipation. Roy left them to it, though he could definitely hear Lilly's excited breaths, and their manic signings between one another.

Roy decided he was going to forget Torrence's words, forget the looming deadline of his cousins' arrival, and just enjoy himself.

It was all he could do right now to remain calm.

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Just to Roy's luck, the next day, the heavens had opened to unleash their rain, silvery droplets splattering on the pavements. It appeared his date with Lilly today wouldn't have an ambience of autumn to calm them, but the battering sounds against the glass of greenhouse, the slick smell of fresh rain shivering from the trees.

It was a good thing he'd set up the picnic inside.

Rudy and the other staff had done an excellent job at finding a spot in the centre of the greenhouse, at the crossing point of two walkways. A wool blanket, faux tea lights, two cake stands with a multitude of finger foods, and patchwork cushions to seat them had been laid out. All around them, all varieties of autumn flowers bloomed in vibrant colours between shades of green, and vines crawled up the trellises, spewing ripened grapes and blossoming petals.

Roy inhaled the scene with gratitude. If the picnic was up to him, he'd have just brought a blanket and a tray of sandwiches.

Lilly, with her arm intertwined with Roy's, also seemed to absorb the wealth of colour and simplicity of the picnic. She pressed her hand onto his arm, as a sign of thanks, and Roy felt his heart warm.

They'd shed their rain gear at the door, and Lilly was, quite frankly, stunning. She'd rolled with the flower theme, looked like she could fit right into one of Gail's make-believe roleplays; her white ball gown was strapless and patterned with rich, red roses. Golden jewellery sparkled from her neckline, her ears, her wrists. With each step, Roy could see her shoes, too: the heels like a gilded cage, wrapped in vines of roses.

He couldn't stop staring at her as she went to sit on the cushions, her dress fanning out around her like a wave of the tide. It was as if she'd walked straight from a fairy-tale, a princess of another land.

She flushed – she must have caught him staring, and he quickly drew his attention to behind him. Eulalia was there, fidgeting with her hands. Rudy could be seen a few paces behind her, shaking the wet umbrellas over the potted plants. Roy cleared his throat.

"Eulalia, please have a seat."

Eulalia straightened at her name. In comparison, she'd had worn a crocheted sky-blue dress with brown boots. She hurried next to Lilly, and seated herself. Her giant hoop earrings, which he'd come to know her for, actually matched Lilly's attire very well.

He seated himself opposite of Lilly, raking his eyes over the food. What lay in front of them were sandwiches with the crusts cut off, macaroons, hors d'oeuvres, tiny cakes, jellies in shot glasses, miniature pies, and scones and jam. A large Victoria sponge also stole a tier on the cake stand, garnished with a glaze and a single glacé cherry on top. Roy wasn't sure where to start.

"This looks great. I'm starving."

Eulalia signed this to Lilly, who nodded with a grin, signing back. Eulalia beamed at Roy.

"Lilly extends her thanks for the food. She thinks it's very touching."

A flourish of heat guzzled Roy. _Touching_. A tender word to use. He gulped down a sudden bundle of nerves that flew up his throat, and gestured in the air for Rudy.

He strode over, expertly uncapping some champagne and offering it to both Lilly and Eulalia. Lilly politely waved her hands in a declining gesture.

Eulalia raised her eyebrows, and smirked. "Ooooh. Don't mind if I do."

It earnt a chuckle Roy and Lilly, and Rudy, who happily filled her flute. When it came to Roy's glass, he filled it to halfway, and no more. Roy narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment – obviously, his butler didn't think he needed anymore champagne.

Roy nursed the drink, the bubbles fizzling pleasantly against his tongue, before gesturing to the food. "Ladies first."

Eulalia glanced at Lilly, who seemed to inhale the sight of afternoon tea with indecision. She eventually caved for some of the sandwiches, the macaroons, and cubes of Mille Feuille chocolate cake. Eulalia dove in next, filling her plate with a little bit of everything, also stealing the cherry on the top of the sponge. Roy stifled his laugh, also grabbing a bit of everything.

A sudden memory of their first meet jumped into Roy's mind, and he placed down his plate and shuffled to face Lilly. He cupped his hands, circled them upwards, and pointed at Lilly.

 _How are you?_

It was, no doubt, the worst Illéan Sign Language Roy had ever done. Yet, Lilly, who had bitten into a cake, recoiled in surprise, smearing her lipstick with chocolate. She fought to down it and nod eagerly, placing the cake on her plate and bouncing on her spot with excitement.

Roy said, "Was that good?"

Eulalia grinned. Spots of strawberry jam mottled her teeth. "Excellent, Your Highness."

Lilly was so eager to sign it appeared Eulalia had trouble at first, having Lilly repeat it.

" _Over the moon_ ," Eulalia translated.

Roy felt his heart fizzle again. She'd said that to him, before, when they'd first met. Her opinions, it appeared, hadn't changed.

" _I'm impressed you remember how to sign that_ ," Eulalia continued, as Lilly.

Roy allowed himself to soak in the moment before, breathe its joyous scent, before smirking. "Well, it _is_ the only thing I can remember in Illéan Sign Language," he said, as Eulalia translated this back to Lilly. "You might have to teach me more."

She straightened, bobbing her head. He pointed to her half-finished cake with an exasperated smile.

"But let's finish eating first."

And though their conversations were rather stilted, having to go through a third person, Roy found himself enchanted by Lilly's infectious sweetness. Always smiling, always bubbly below her surface of shy.

"What did you think of Torrence Whitley?" he said, if only to gauge if Torrence was the same to everybody as she was to Elise and Ambrosia.

At this, Lilly's smile dimmed, and she tilted her head back and forth to think. Eventually, she signed, and Eulalia frowned in response.

" _Not very pleasant, admittedly_ ," she translated. " _Torrence was rather... judgemental, about everything…_ " She trailed off – Lilly signed again, and Eulalia continued. " _But she always complimented my dress sense, which was kind of her_."

He wondered if Torrence could only be kind in regards to fashion, given that it was what she wanted to centre her life around.

Roy smiled. "Well, no wonder she liked your dress sense. You really do look beautiful, Lilly."

She flushed when Eulalia translated, attempting to eat some of the chocolate to dispel the blush. Eulalia smirked in response.

"You get on well, you and Lilly, Eulalia?" Roy ventured. Eulalia, he'd found out later, had been assigned to Lilly by the palace, not through any previous friendship or arrangement. They'd met on the day they'd first arrived.

Eulalia nodded robotically. "Yes! We're like two peas in a pod. Well," she glanced at Lilly, who, by her facial expression, was trying to piece together their spoken conversation, "Lilly was very… _overwhelming_ , to me, when I first met her. She was incredibly energetic. I managed to calm her down."

Roy shoved a cake into his mouth and cocked an eyebrow. "Excited by palace life?"

Eulalia pressed her lips together. "Something like that."

Roy paused his chewing. Perhaps he was reading too much into it, but the comment seemed rather cagey. When Eulalia translated the conversation back to Lilly, Lilly equally raised her eyebrows in alarm, and signed wildly. And when Eulalia didn't indulge Roy in Lilly's words, they became locked in a battle of hands, signing and creating, their expressions creasing.

Was this an argument? He had no idea, and wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Neither looked angry, per se… just… alarmed.

"Er… are you arguing?" he eventually whispered.

Startled, Eulalia shook her head and grinned. "Oh, no, no! Peas in a pod, we are! We have minor… disagreements, sometimes. Of course, like every partner has."

Roy glanced at Lilly – her eyes were downcast, suddenly glued to the floor. Whatever they'd just talked about, whatever they'd disagreed on, it was enough to dampen Lilly's mood. Seeing her like this twisted Roy's gut.

Eulalia spoke suddenly. "Did you know Lilly is on social media, Your Highness?"

Lilly looked up at Eulalia at the comment, and as Eulalia translated, her face flushed a dark enough shade to rival the rose pattern on her dress. At least, Roy thought, it was enough to drag Lilly from whatever depths she had neared.

He smirked. "Oh, really?" He whipped out his phone, opening the browser. "What are you on? Instagraph? Chirper?"

"Both," said Eulalia.

"Sweet," he said, opening both applications. "What's your username? I'll add you."

Eulalia plucked Lilly's mobile from her bag and handed it to her. Lilly signed, also opening a multitude of apps.

Eulalia stifled a smirk. "Lilly asks that you don't laugh, Your Highness."

Roy lifted his eyes to meet Lilly and smirked. "I promise nothing."

She must have understood, as she fanned herself and giggled. She tapped her screen, then showed Roy.

Her username: _xoxoLilsoxox_.

Roy slapped a hand to his mouth, feeling a bout of giggles rise up his throat. Lilly pouted, signing.

" _Don't laugh_!" said Eulalia, also laughing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he wheezed. "Just… that username. Oh, wow. It screams thirteen-year-old vibes."

Eulalia translated, and Lilly stuck out her tongue.

He typed in her name, coming to her Instagraph page first. Filled to the brim with selfies of her time at the Selection, the other girls, the palace, the food, and, if he scrolled far back enough, her old life in Kent. She had thousands of followers, no doubt, boosted by her participation in the Selection.

Or her beauty. He couldn't help but notice that each photo she had taken of herself was stunning, vibrant, and captivating, as if she were a model in her own right. Her make-up was flawless, her hair effortlessly styled, her eyeliner winged. She made life look easy.

And each photo was captioned. He tried to imagine her speaking the words. This must have been her outlet, a way she could voice her thoughts to the world. His heart shuddered with each passing word.

" _I came up with the name when I was_ fourteen _, actually_ ," translated Eulalia. " _What's_ your _username_?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "HRHPrinceRoy. One word." He smirked. "I came up with that when I was thirteen."

She stuck out her tongue indignantly again and signed.

" _The username_ LillyCarter _, with no spaces, was taken_. _So I had to think of something else_."

His smirk stretched. "I'm also verified."

" _I'm_ waiting _for verification_ ," said Eulalia as Lilly. " _Instagraph don't seem to believe that I am the real Lilly Carter participating in your Selection_."

An idea snapped into his mind. "Well, why don't we help them along?"

He moved on all fours, crawling over to where Lilly was seated. The same pinkish hue captivated her cheeks as he sat next to her, so close their arms brushed against each other. He could feel sparks jumping between them.

He allowed the camera app of his phone, and both of their faces popped up on screen. He held it out, making sure at least part of Lilly's dress made it into the photo.

"Ready?"

Lilly quickly swiped a napkin and used the phone camera to remove the chocolate from her lipstick. When she was done, she threw the napkin out of view.

Roy lifted his trademark grin, sticking his tongue out. "Say xoxoLilsoxox!"

Whether Lilly understood him, or whether she did and completely ignored him anyway, she ended up just smiling prettily. Roy pressed the button, and the phone flashed.

He retracted his arm, showing the photo to Lilly. She nodded with a meek smiling, approving. He could hear her shallow breaths, scent the chocolate from her lips, and taste the faint waft of lilies from her wavy blonde hair. For a moment, Roy allowed himself to absorb the mesmeric lull of her brown eyes – words unspoken, thoughts unheard, and yet, Lilly Carter managed still to brighten his day.

Roy didn't move back to his original seat, and he posted the picture to his Instagraph. He tagged her in the photo and captioned it with ' xoxoLilsoxox is legit :P'. Their date today was now forever immortalised on the Internet.

"There. Now Instagraph have to verify you."

Lilly didn't have time to sign a response – the doors opened. Ji-Yu bustled inside. Her hair was done into a neat bun, her queen's crown cresting her head, and her _hanbok_ a deep and royal purple underneath a raincoat, though the rain had perished.

She strode over to them. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Jun, Lady Carter and Ms Shields." She glanced at Rudy in acknowledgement as well, before refocusing on Roy. "But you're needed."

Roy felt the happiness disappear into a void, and dread take its place. Did this have something to do with the spy?

"What is it?"

Ji-Yu switched her gaze uncomfortably between the four of them. "It's not an emergency… well, I suppose _you_ might consider it an emergency." She pursed her lips. "Philippa, Alexander and Barnabas are arriving early."

No. _No_. They weren't meant to arrive for another few days. Even indirectly, those twins had ruined Roy's date!

He blew out an aggravated sigh and stood up. "When?"

Ji-Y's deepening frown told him everything, but she spoke anyway.

"Their helicopter is landing," she said, "right… about now."

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 **A/N:** Minor cliffhanger for you all! Hope you enjoyed it!

In regards to Roy's history, I do feel terrible for 'killing off' Eadlyn and Eikko (they're probs my favourite characters), plus their kids. In all honestly, I gave Roy and co. the surname _Schreave_ because a) The Crown wasn't released and b) it was just the default name of the royal family in Illéa. I realised later on that it didn't make sense for the Schreave name to remain in the royal line when Eadlyn married Eikko, becoming a Koskinen, and subsequently give the name to future royals, so I had to work around it. If I could go back in time and change it, I would (and darn diddly, I published this on the 2nd May, when The Crown was released the 3rd. All I had to do was wait a day! XD)

The winner of the date was Lilly, if it wasn't obvious. :P Also, I don't own Hilja Koskinen. I saw the name on tumblr and thought it'd be cool to add. Full credit to them!

Reviews, favourites and follows loved and appreciated! Unfortunately, something has derped on FF's site, meaning I can't reply to some reviews, but I have read them and I appreciate your thoughts and opinions immensely!

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "If it weren't for Lilly's deafness, Roy wouldn't be surprised if she kicked him in the nuts through the swathes of her dress."


	21. Windsor Woes

The next few minutes were a scramble – Roy, deciding that Lilly Carter and Eulalia Shields could join the greeting party of his British family, frantically made his way from the greenhouse, up to the roof of the palace's West Wing. The rain had ended at some point, leaving a veil of grey clouds in the sky and a scent of petrichor spotting the grounds. The skyline of Los Angeles was dull and unwelcoming here.

Ji-Yu had also had the rest of the Selected gathered inside to greet them when they came in. Roy passed them all in the foyer of the West Wing, with Lilly hanging on his arm and Eulalia scurrying behind them, and burst onto the roof.

Indeed, blusters of wind assaulted his face from a looming helicopter, glimmering in wet steel. The blades cleaved air, filling his ears with incessant buzz.

The rain had been cleared on the roof, leaving only a lingering smell around them. Lilly clutched onto Roy's arm, staring at the helicopter with wide eyes. Eulalia, however, didn't appear at all surprised at the Windsors' methods of arrival.

Roy joined Merrick, Gail, Ji-Yu, and a handful of guards in a line, as the helicopter descended onto the helipad. Rudy also joined Roy's side, if only to wait on the family when they exited.

Roy had been nervous with Lilly during their date, but now his nerve ends were fried with the spontaneous arrival of the Windsors. He hadn't had time to mentally prepare, nor did he want to brace himself for the worst week to come. He glanced at starstruck Lilly, and was at least comforted by the awe twinkling in her eyes.

The helicopter shut off, the blades slowing to stop, and a round of guards ran forwards to assist with opening the doors. Roy suddenly wished Durante were here, so he could attempt to impale one of the princes if they got too close for Roy's liking.

He inhaled a deep breath. The door opened.

A bejewelled pair of feet stepped free from the helicopter, and a woman, much older than Ji-Yu, delicately accepted a hand in her own, gloved one to help her down. Silver streaked her red hair, thick and luscious, and weaved throughout a modest gold crown. Her dress suit was wrapped tight beneath a thin, wool coat, and she tapped the ground with a morsel of grace, breathing in the air.

Her blue eyes passed over them – finally landing on Merrick, and, despite the trickles of rainwater left on the pad, she ran over with her arms wide.

"Ricky!" she yelled. "Oh, it's so good to see you!"

Her accent was, for the most part, an elongated and deep British, but there was still a twang of Illéa colouring her words despite how long she'd lived in England. Merrick ran forwards and embraced her, too.

"Pippa," he said. "It's been too long!"

She held him at arm's length. With her heels, she was nearly a head taller – and Merrick was already ridiculously tall to begin with.

"It has!" She grinned, her teeth glimmering in the daylight. "You have grey hair!"

Merrick pouted. "I do not!"

Philippa moved onto Ji-Yu, embracing her in a hug as well, before picking up Gail in her arms.

"Auntie Pip! Auntie Pip!" Gail cheered, picking at Philippa's crown.

Philippa grinned. "You're so big now!"

Roy felt Lilly stiffen beneath him, and ripped his stare away to focus on the helicopter.

Two gentlemen refused help from the guards, disembarking at the exact same time. Their suits, pressed and wrinkleless, were the same shade of navy, matching navy wool jumpers, and their grimaces were the same shade of disgust. The twin on the left – Alexander – roved his eyes over the roof with his bottom lip upturned, his chestnut hair gelled like the front a sharp slope. The twin on the right – Barnabas – looking much more neutral, with his chestnut hair tousled over his forehead. He leant over to Alex with his hands behind his back, muttering something.

Soon, war would begin, and Roy knew it right from the very brittleness of his bones.

Philippa skidded in front of Roy, breaking his view. Gail was still in her arms.

"Oh, Roy!" she chanted, offering him a one-armed hug. "You're so handsome! How long has it been? Four years?"

Roy split his arm from Lilly to accept. "I think so," Roy replied, with his most charming smirk. "Too long."

She petted his shoulder. "Gosh, you're the picture of your mother, you are. And," she swerved to face Lilly, and gave a firm nod, "you must be Miss Lilly Carter! How lucky Roy is to have you!"

Lilly blinked. Eulalia quickly stepped forwards and translated. Baffled still, Lilly nodded, and curtsied her doming rose dress.

Philippa gave her an airy wave. "Oh, nonsense! You don't need to be so formal with me! I know _all_ about your Selection, Roy," she rounded her eyes back to him, and winked, "and what a marvellous bunch they are! I can't wait to meet them all!"

"Well, they're waiting in the West Wing drawing room to greet you," said Roy.

"Yay! They're fun!" said Gail. "And they like hockey!"

"I'll bet they do!" Philippa cooed. She turned her head to Rudy. "Ah, Rudy! Would you mind organising mine and my sons' bags?"

Rudy bowed. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said. "Wonderful to see you again, ma'am."

Philippa, with Gail in her arms, and Rudy behind, moved to the rooftop bulkhead for downstairs. Roy was torn to see them all go, knowing that it meant he had to deal with Alex and Barney by himself.

Lilly came up to his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He'd made it quite known how he felt about the twins, so it was comforting to know Lilly was on his side.

Ji-Yu had embraced Alex as Barney talked with Merrick. Ji-Yu smiled approvingly. "You're as handsome as I remember, Alexander."

A smug grin rose onto Alex's pale face, and he nodded his head. The gel kept his hair rigidly in place. "Thank you, Aunt Ji. You are, equally, as radiant as I remember."

 _Gag_ , Roy thought. Alex had always been a kiss-ass. He spoke his clear-cut, hoity-toity British accent with a jagged edge of confidence that sent shivers down Roy's spine. How he'd always daydreamed of punching that stupid face.

Ji-Yu laughed. "Ah, thank you. Your flattery is misaimed, but still appreciated."

Barnabas gave her a hug then, and Ji-Yu's attention was stolen.

That was when Alex's eyes slid to meet Roy's.

A fierce blaze seemed to clash between them. Roy saw nothing in Alex's deep blue eyes, an abyss crawling with a barrage of remorseless taunts and endless mockery, ready to be locked and loaded.

He sneered.

" _Fitz_."

Roy could feel his muscles shrivel in his skin, as if recoiling away from the very pit of destitute and evil that was Alexander Windsor.

Still, he refused to back down from Alex's gaze. He narrowed his eyes and sneered right back. " _Alex_."

Alex's lip twitched. "It's _Alexander_." He paused. "As your elder by three years, you should automatically give me respect."

Unlike Alex, Roy didn't mind being called _Fitz_. It was part of his name, after all. A stupid nickname, but tolerable in comparison to other things Alex would call him if Ji-Yu weren't in earshot.

A winning smirk captured Roy. "I was always taught that respect was _earnt_ , not _given_."

An ugly sneer descended on Alex, and, although his hands were firmly laced together behind his back, Roy could still see his arms tense, his jaw clench.

Roy: one. Alex: zero.

He rolled his shoulders back, and the smugness created a nebula around him – winning the battle, losing the war. His eyes darted to Lilly, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled.

"I see you are in the midst of a Selection."

Roy fought his temptation to stand in front of Lilly, protect her from Alex's death glare. "I am."

The corner of his mouth snagged. "Pity you could not find a suitable wife outside the droves of commoners."

Roy dropped his mouth open. Had he just… insulted his entire Selection, the history of his _own_ ancestry, in one fell swoop, _in front of_ a Selected? Outrage filled every crevice of Roy's heart, and he could feel it palpitate in disgust. Heck, Alex's own damn _mother_ was the product of the Selection. If it weren't for Lilly's deafness, Roy wouldn't be surprised if she kicked him in the nuts through the swathes of her dress.

Merrick and Ji-Yu stepped up to them, then. They'd been so engrossed in conversation that they hadn't heard Alex's comments – to Roy's annoyance.

Merrick gestured to the door with a big grin. "Oh, this week will be so fun! Come on, boys. We have prepared your rooms."

Roy's parents ambled off without so much as looking back, taking an entourage of guards with them. Barnabas, with his hair loose and mop-like, pressed his lips together at the sight of Roy, the mirror image of his brother with his hands clasped behind his back – Roy could see something strangled between his fingers.

" _Fitz_."

This again. Roy grounded his teeth together.

" _Barney_."

Barney made to hiss, but Alex held out his hand. "Don't bother, Barnabas." He switched his glare to Roy. "A fool never learns from his mistakes."

"Clearly," Barnabas said, not giving Roy the chance to reply – from behind him he produced a rolled-up newspaper, and fanned it open. "I couldn't help but glance over a recent issue of the _Illéan Times_."

Roy blanched. Oh god, _no_. What had they cherry-picked from Clarity's articles? He squinted, reading the date. It was from two weeks ago. _The fashion show_.

That was a paper Roy hadn't bothered to read. He'd witnesses everything himself. Was Barnabas going to complain about the rebels?

Alex leant over to peek, and ended up lifting a hand to his mouth and snorting. He lifted his hand to his mouth to stop himself looking too _uncouth_.

Barnabas brandished the newspaper. The article wasn't, in fact, about the gunman attack or the rebels. It was about him _stumbling_ onto stage at the fashion show. In the image smattered onto the front page in black-and-white, Roy recognised himself in the white suit, a haphazard grin on his face, his feet unable to walk properly as he propelled onto stage.

"Intoxicated, at your own fashion show?" Alex said, still laughing. "Good god. No wonder no one takes you seriously, Fitz."

Roy stilled – no, he wasn't drunk! He'd barely glanced at a bottle of vodka since being caught at the Salt and Stars by nosy paparazzi. But… why _did_ he look like a drunkard?

Then he remembered. Sherlock's jokes.

He'd been laughing so hard, along with Luna and Riley, at Sherlock's jokes that he nearly missed his cue to make a speech on stage. Riley had shoved him out of the wings, and he'd stumbled. Of course, Clarity would snap a photo.

"I wasn't drunk, I was—" Was there any point? The Twin Princes would twist his words, anyway. He growled. "Not sure if you noticed, but I was _attacked_ on that day."

Barnabas rolled up the newspaper, remaining neutral to the statement. But Alex sneered.

"Then I doubly feel the misfortune of your Selected," he snuck a pitiful glance at Lilly, "that they will be left in _your_ hands."

Without waiting for Roy's response, Alex marched into the door with that despicable smirk plastered all over him. Barney narrowed his eyes at Roy, before following behind his brother. Though Barney was more tolerable than Alex – by a miniscule amount – Roy still felt a nausea pierce through him each time he had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting either of them.

They exited through the bulkhead. Lilly stared at Roy with a neutral expression, waiting for him to react. Roy turned to her and Eulalia, who was shying away from the attention she didn't want from either twin.

"See what I mean?"

Eulalia translated, and Lilly nodded grimly.

How was he supposed to survive a week when he barely survived that one encounter?

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Roy, keeping check on Lilly and Eulalia, led them down the staircase and back to the foyer. Light refreshments were being served in the West Drawing Room, the doors wide for visitors, staff and Selected alike to move freely. The green-shaded sofas and armchairs had been splayed for a more open space to socialise in. The Selected, Roy was grateful to see, were dressed in formal dresses, politely speaking with anyone curious enough to approach them. Most were just talking amongst themselves.

Then, Roy spotted Alex and Barney speaking to a group of Selected girls. Roy's heart crunched inside.

Nope. Roy decided the twins could bag on him all they liked, but could not, under any circumstances, chase after his Selected. Even if Alex thought them 'commoners'.

He led Lilly to Chiara Romani-Carriedo. Her idea of formal attire was a green dress that painted the floor in silk. She straightened ever so slightly, her hands settled around a flute of champagne.

"Chiara," he whispered. Her passion was what attracted Roy to her in the first place – he hoped it wouldn't be for waste. "Can you help me make sure the Twinces don't overstep their mark?"

She smirked. "Leave it to me, Your Highness."

He slipped his arm from Lilly, and turned to her. "Thanks for the date today. I really did have fun, and you do look stunning."

A grimace overtook Lilly, as if she knew as well as Roy did that the appearance of the Windsors had shredded the emotive power of the date into flickering remnants. Still, she nodded, pressing her hands on his and smiling graciously.

"I don't need for her to sign to know she says thank you," said Eulalia, by her side.

Lilly didn't look away, and, grateful, Roy leant forwards and kissed her cheek. A simple peck that still soothed his bubbling anger for the fleeting moments of contact. Sparks leapt from his skin.

He leant back, and a flourishing blush overcame her. This time, she was unable to look at him.

He felt cold walking away. Already, he missed her calming presence and bubbling enthusiasm.

Now, he had to deal with a bigger problem.

Alex and Barney had currently accosted Natasha Barron and Alisa Orlov. Roy marched through the crowd, also spotting Aunt Philippa around a horde of Selected girls, complimenting their dresses. No doubt, the exact opposite of what her sons were doing.

He embraced the conversation before either Alex or Barney could prepare. "Gentlemen," he said, though they were anything but _gentle_. "Ladies."

Alex, with his arms behind his back still, quirked an eyebrow at him. "I was just speaking with Lady Natasha Barron."

Natasha looked like she was trying hard not to wince. Her blonde hair loose and curling around her chest. Her outfit today accommodated her willowy figure, with a white sheath dress and matching high heels. She pricked a smile.

"Yes. It has been lovely to get to know your cousin, Your Highness," she spoke through grated teeth.

What the heck had Alex been drivelling on about?

As if hearing Roy's thoughts, Alex smirked. "Did you know she has a child?"

Roy's lungs twisted. Natasha had adopted her best friend's child when her best friend had died. He remembered as much from their first meeting. Roy gritted his teeth. "I am quite aware of Lady Natasha's unique circumstances."

"Really?" Alex questioned. His eyes glittered like fresh ice. "I wonder if the royal court is informed."

"Why do they matter?" Roy said snappily.

"Only that Lady Natasha's child would automatically put her out of the running for your hand, is all." He said this so throwaway, as if the Selection were a board game on a Friday night. "At least, it would bring many complications. Don't you agree?"

Roy dropped his act. "Don't be crass, Alex."

" _Alexander_ ," he snapped. "Honestly, Fitz. Keeping someone like Lady Natasha in the competition. What is the point? Do you aim to break her hopes even more?"

Roy hadn't had the chance to think on it properly, was the reason. But that, to Alex, would sound lazy. He spared a fleeting glance at Natasha, her blue eyes wide and her fists clenched – he wasn't sure if she was angry at him or Alex – and looked back to Alex.

"That's none of your business."

"I am unfortunately staying for a _week_ , Fitz. Everything shall be _my_ business." He turned sharply on his heel, scanning the crowd for another Selected to prey on, and he half-turned to Barney. "Come, Barnabas."

Barney and Alisa were in conversation so deep he didn't seem to hear Alex at first. Alisa's blonde hair was coiffed into a giant bun, and a curl of her fringe fluttered off her forehead. Her skater dress was white at the chest, too, but with a rainbow skirt, and nude heels.

Then, he saw it – on her cheeks. _A blush_.

It took much of Roy's willpower not to let his mouth drop open. Barney was _deliberately_ _flirting_ with his Selected.

"May I remind you, _Barney_ ," he said in a low voice, "that fraternising with my Selected is considered _treason_?"

Alex paused and scoffed at the comment. "We would not want your _leftovers_ , thank you."

Natasha growled under her breath, so only Roy could hear. "We wouldn't want _you_ either."

Barney broke away from his intense eye-gaze with Alisa, fixing Roy with an uncaring frown. "I am well aware of the rules of your Selection, _Fitz_." He turned back to Alisa, his eyes warming like a pool of a Jacuzzi. "I, however, don't pretend not to recognise beauty when I see it."

Without waiting for Roy's response, Barney plucked Alisa's arm from her side, bowed, and _kissed_ the back of her hand.

Something like jealousy and anger burnt through Roy so furious he couldn't thwart his shaking arms, and a stream of swear words pelted his head behind a beleaguering fire. He ended up muttering sharp and fast Korean to expel some of his anger at Barney – luckily, too low for him to hear. Still, Barney rose from his bow and smirked at Roy.

A challenge.

Alex had narrowed his eyes and became still, not quite sure how to interpret the situation, but led the way elsewhere nonetheless, followed by Barney.

Roy swallowed his anger – now was _not_ the time to get annoyed. He couldn't make a mistake. He shoved it into the basket in his mind, and turned to Alisa. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, still flushing. "Yes, yes, I'm fine, thank you, Your Highness. He…" she glanced at Barney's back, "has a way with words."

Damn their silver tongues. Converting and trapping his Selected before they'd even settled into Illéan life, yet.

"Don't fall for them," he said, almost as a command. "What I said, about fraternising outside of the Selection is true for _both_ parties." He cast a gloomy frown. "I don't want to anyone caught in a scandal."

Alisa straightened. "O-Of course! He was just trying to rile you," she piped. "I-I wouldn't… I'd never…"

Natasha rested a hand on her arm, but her eyes were storming with feelings. "It's all right, Alisa. We'll look out for each other. Besides," she gave Roy a guilty smile, "that Alex is _horrible_."

At least _someone_ agreed with him. His parents seemed to think them angels. He grinned.

"You're all right, too?"

"I'm made of stronger stuff than whatever he tried to rattle me with," she said, with a determined smile.

Still, Roy couldn't help but think – what _would_ the royal court say if they heard about Natasha's adopted daughter?

Deciding to address the issue after the reception, he smiled. "All right, then. If they try to bother you again, find Chiara or me. We'll sort them out."

Alisa giggled, and Natasha grinned.

"I have no doubt that Chiara will set them straight."

Roy half-turned to look at the twins – now, they had cornered poor Vanessa Hardy and Elise Belmont, but Elise looked as if she were handling them with her excitement. He also spotted Chiara edging the crowd with her angry eyes fixated on them. If they pulled anything funny, she was ready to pounce. They both were.

He bit down a sigh. This would have to happen for the rest of the week – him being on his guard.

The Bonfire Ball tonight was going to be interesting, indeed.

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Hours before the Bonfire Ball was to happen, Roy found himself pacing towards Natasha's room. The conversation today had turned ugly, and he, quite frankly, couldn't stomach that Natasha would be on the receiving end Alex's sharp commentary for a whole week.

The royal court was filled with old traditionals and staunch elderly. The prospect of an outside child didn't equate to their idea of an easy Selection. The rules were about blood relatives, but an adoptive daughter from another person, not even his _wife_ , if Natasha were to be the One, would certainly bring into question about inheritance. No way did Roy like the idea of a usurping from his children.

He hated to admit that Alex was most likely right, that Natasha's child would bring complications to the throne, no matter which way he tried to spin it. Thinking on it, he hadn't felt an immediate connection to Natasha as he did some of the others, like Avianna or Lilly.

Perhaps it was for the best that she left.

That was what he told himself repeatedly as he approached her door. Dismissing the guards, he knocked, and rocked on his heels. His heart was doing that stupid thudding again, in anticipation of breaking someone's happiness into shards.

Natasha's maid opened the door, and curtsied.

"May I speak with Lady Natasha, please?" Roy said. "Alone?"

The maid clarified this with Natasha, and left in a scamper, with two others following behind.

"Come in, Your Highness," said Natasha.

He did, shutting the door behind him. Natasha's room was adorned with tons of photographs, strung on the walls on yarn, or framed on her bedside tables. Many were of her and her adopted child, with a different shade of blonde hair and blue eyes, and they both grinned as if the world owed them nothing, and they owed nothing to the world. Guilt ate into Roy like worms with what he was about to do.

Natasha herself was seated at her vanity table, a cream caking her face and cucumbers shrouding her eyes. She stood and sketched a wobbly curtsy in her dressing gown, facing the wrong direction.

"Er, sorry, Your Highness," she said with a sheepish laugh. "I'm just getting my face done."

"Call me Roy. And don't worry about it. It's actually pretty funny. Also," Roy stifled a smirk, "I'm over here."

She turned, laughing still, and plucked the cucumbers from her eyes. Her eyes seemed to shine a brighter colour – then, in the seconds of silence that fell, her smile turned into self-pity.

"This is about earlier, isn't it? The conversation with Prince Alexander?"

Roy felt the words stick in his throat again. "Yes."

She nodded, sitting down in her chair and facing the vanity's mirror. It, too, was festooned with pictures of the girl. Roy felt terrible that he couldn't even remember her name, and he ended up sitting on the trunk at the foot of Natasha's bed.

"She's very beautiful," he whispered.

Natasha stilled. "Yes, she is," she whispered back. "Just like her parents."

"Would you remind me…?"

Natasha turned and smiled. "Amber," she said. "Amber Adele Kadinsky."

Roy gently pried a photo tacked onto her bedposts. Natasha and little Amber were at a modelling studio – he could tell with the make-up stations in the background – and Natasha appeared to be in some sort of _avant-garde_ outfit for a photoshoot. Evidently, they had time to snap a picture together. Amber looked young, perhaps four or five years old, and some of her baby teeth had fallen out, leaving gaps in her toothy grin.

Pity washed over Roy. How horrible it must have been to have her parents killed in a car crash. But a blessing that Natasha was willing to take her under her wing and raise her as her own.

In royalty, this would never cement, he knew.

He replaced the photo. "I'm sorry, but… Alex was right. The royal court would have a fit about inheritance."

"I figured as much," Natasha whispered, clasping her hands over her lap. "I've done some research into royal politics myself, and… the odds didn't look good…" She frowned at him. "Would it… really bring complications?"

Roy felt like he might as well slap her. "Yes. It would be more trouble to both you and me than it would be worth, really." He widened his eyes. "Not that Amber is _trouble_ , but—"

She held up a hand. "No, no. I understand."

He grinned. "I won't even bother asking if you would give her up."

"Good," she said, her chest inflating with pride. "I wouldn't. Not for all the jewels in the world."

Or a crown.

Her intentions were pure. A spy would have come into this competition to make themselves as available as possible, as adoring and desirable so Roy could fall into lull with them – but a child from another couple was the total opposite of that.

He came to stand. "Then I suppose I should just come out and say that I have to eliminate you."

The world stilled, and for a moment, Natasha said nothing, but a smile rose on her face.

"Well, it was worth it."

"Did you enter for Amber?"

Natasha cringed suddenly, tilting her head back and forth. "Yes, and no. I suppose it was more of a selfish reason…" She drew in breath. "It was so I could escape an arranged marriage."

Roy choked. They still existed? "An _arranged marriage_?!"

She grimaced. "Yeah, I know. Gross, right?" She shivered. "The man my mother had set me up with hated children, too, and he threatened to throw Amber out if I became his wife. The Selection was an easier option for both of us."

Roy vaguely recalled that Natasha's mother was also a famous actress, her golden days passed when Ji-Yu was younger and Roy wasn't even born yet. Roy felt cold ride through his suit. "That man sounds like a nightmare." He paused. "If you go back now, will your mother…?" He steeled. "Because if she does, you and Amber are welcome to stay here for as long as you need."

She bowed her head. "Thank you, that's very kind. I think… I _hope_ ," she said, "that my mother won't force it upon me any longer."

"You're too high profile now," Roy said, adding a smirk. "Not that you weren't before."

"It's true. I think." She laughed suddenly. "Can I stay for the Bonfire Ball, at least? I _did_ have cucumbers prepared just for this."

He ended up chuckling, too. "Yeah, that's fine. You can stay for the Ball, but, perhaps but tomorrow morning, you should take your leave." He smiled. "I'm sure Amber will be happy to see you."

Natasha nodded. "She will."

Roy was just glad that this elimination hadn't gone as haywire as Torrence's. Then again, he didn't think _anything_ could top her dramatic reaction.

He made for the door. "Well, if you are forced into another arranged marriage, contact me, and you can have sanctum here. Heck," he smirked, remembering his attempts to set Rudy up with someone, "maybe you'll find a hot guard that digs kids _and_ you."

Natasha laughed loudly, leaning on the back of her chair. "Well, we'll see." She settled. "You ought to go get ready for the Bonfire Ball, though. And so must I."

He nodded, giving her a lazy salute. "What are you dressing up as?"

She grinned. "Cinderella."

"Nice."

"You?"

Roy beamed something sneaky. "You'll see…"

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. "I hope it's better than whatever those twins are wearing."

Roy intended for it to be. It was going to be so Halloween that they would just bow to his sheer Halloweenness.

He chuckled. "See you there."

"See you there," she grinned, "Roy."

And with that, he left Natasha Barron's room for the last time.

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 **A/N** : Anticipation builds! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

So I forgot to mention this last chapter, but thanks to Neon Lions for Torrence! Probably one of my favourite Selected girls, but I didn't think she'd get very far with her attitude D: Also thanks to Natasha's creator, Cookiedoodles168! I didn't think her child would get her very far either, but at least she's still on friendly terms with Roy, lol.

What do you all think of Alex and Barney? I'll bet you have some... choice words to say... :P

So I also have some regrettable news. I had my uni induction week this week, and it was the equivalent of death. I'm worried that I'll either neglect my studies or neglect this fanfiction, and since I'd like to do neither, I've pushed back chapter releases to a weekly update again. I'm so sorry I've had to do this, especially after I just moved it to five days. I thought I could manage, but uni kind of bitch-slapped me. However, I know you'd all rather quality over speed, and I think this is the best way to achieve that. Thanks for your patience!

And thank you all for your continued and wonderful support! I really mean it, I do love reading your reviews and reactions, and seeing favourites and follows. It makes my day knowing someone is still reading and enjoying.

~ GWA

NTT: "Excuse me, but I am a remorseless assassin that kills for fun and strikes fear into the living."


	22. The Bonfire Ball, Part 1

As the final touch to his Dracula costume, Roy threw on a black cloak, with a collar that cupped his head, and inspected himself in the door mirror in his bedroom.

He hadn't been too downcast at the idea of skipping Halloween, but despite it all, he admired his scary look and wished he could take to the streets with it, hiding in plain sight. Apart from the black cloak, lined with red velvet, Roy had chosen a damask waistcoat, plain trousers, and a white shirt with a red cravat to match his vampire look.

He could have argued that his garb wasn't far from his normal look, except his face was totally transformed. The make-up artists had erased his natural flush with pale foundation palettes. Blood dribbled down the side of his mouth, which was set with a pair of fangs, and black kohl sunk his eyes. Roy swung around to admire himself from all angles in his mirror. His long hair, too, had been gelled to cling to his head.

Rudy, besides him and admiring his handiwork, fingered the last piece of his costume: a golden medallion shaped like a cross, encrusted with a ruby gem, glittered on a red ribbon. "The necklace."

Roy wasn't sure how the necklace made him Dracula, but he rolled with it, slipping it over his head.

Finally, Rudy allowed himself an exhale of his breath. "There. That should do it."

Roy pressed his lips together. "This will show up the Twinces?"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Your Highness, the… _incident_ , was so long ago. They may not be the most pleasant beings, but can you not find peace?"

"I'll find peace," muttered Roy, his grimace creasing his make-up, "when they stop taunting me about it."

"Well, I can't tell you if it will, ahem, _show them up_. The maids haven't been able to glean what they are wearing tonight."

Damn. If they showed up as twin Draculas, Roy was going to rage.

"What even _is_ Bonfire Night?" Roy said. "Is it just for pyromaniacs?"

"No," said Rudy. "Many years ago, a man named Guy Fawkes and his band of rebels attempted to decimate the government using barrels of gunpowder. It failed, so the United Kingdom Commonwealth celebrate every year on November fifth with fireworks and bonfires."

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Let me get this straight. They light a bonfire to celebrate a guy _failing_ to light a bonfire…?"

Rudy pursed his lips, but answered, "Precisely. I believe there is the intention to roast s'mores, too, so you can't really complain."

It was the _only_ thing Roy looked forward to. He sighed. "You're sure you can't come? You could come dressed as… a butler…?"

"As flattering as the invitation to dress up as _myself_ is, Your Highness," Rudy retorted, "I have the unfortunate duty of cleaning your bathroom tonight." He sniffed the air indignantly. "How long has it been since you last changed those towels? Or washed the trousers on your floor?"

Roy smirked. "Your job. Not mine."

A bang on the door prevented Rudy's comeback.

" _Fitzroy_!" the voice shrieked. "Open up!"

 _Katrina_. Roy had almost forgotten she existed, for a few days. Those were lovely times, indeed. He sighed, glancing pitifully at Rudy, and glided to the door.

He knew Katrina was famous for her blond bow hairstyle, so when he instead beheld a girl with her ruby-red curls, wearing a purple shell bra, a sea green mermaid skirt, complete with fishtail train, and high heels, Roy wasn't sure he could assimilate this new image of Katrina into the bank of his memory. Her face was flushed as dark as her wig.

Officer Durante loomed behind her, wincing. "My apologies for the disturbance, Your Highness," he said, not as stoically as he usually was, "but Lady Katrina insisted—"

"You're supposed to escort me to the Bonfire Ball!" Katrina cut across.

Roy blinked, nodding his head at Durante to warrant the interruption. "I was?" he said, monotone.

Her cheeks pinched. They had been dusted in light rosy hues, to give her a younger look.

"You are now. You still owe me, remember?"

He gave her a cross look. "Funny, how last time I had to pay you back by going to a stuffy dinner, and now all you want me to do is walk you into a room?"

She snarled. "That's not it. I have to make a good impression on Prince Alexander and Duke Barnabas."

Roy nearly spat out with laughter, and he fully opened the door. "And you think hanging _me_ on your arm will help? Trust me," he snorted, "it won't. They hate me."

Katrina knitted her arms. "With good reason."

Roy tried desperately to shoo the image of Alex or Barney, and Katrina _falling in love_ with each other. Even if they were as horrible as each other, and, therefore, perfect. Their children would cause mass destruction and start civil wars.

Her lips upturned. "Well, I'm not going in without an escort."

Roy instead gestured to Rudy. "How about my butler, Rudy? The Twinces don't have a problem with him."

She spied Rudy – his natural red hair, his neat butler's attire – and must have approved somewhat, pushing out a sigh. "He'll do." She fluttered a hand in his direction airily. "Hurry up, butler."

Rudy stared hard at Roy as he offered Katrina his arm. Katrina yanked him along, her high heels padding against the carpet. Despite the eagerness, Rudy still managed to turn his head around to shoot Roy a sharp dagger-like glare and a curt hiss. Roy stifled his laugh and shut his bedroom door.

Officer Durante stood to attention, though Roy could definitely see a ghost of an amused smile playing with his lips.

"No one is allowed in, except Rudy. Okay?"

Durante nodded. "Of course, sir."

Roy gave him a nod as he made to follow Katrina and poor Rudy ahead.

In the corridor, the three of them bumped into Delia Colestrist and Regina Landowski. Delia looked to be in some sort of boy's school uniform, grey, with red and gold accents. A black cloak lined with red billowed behind her, but her most jarring change was a ginger wig, like a shaggy haircut, curling by her ears. Meanwhile, Regina had chosen a creepy purple cat costume. Her face had been painted like an open, grinning mouth, and she wore fuzzy purple fur and matching ears. They both curtsied – Delia using her cloak, and Regina her purple tail as an alternative to skirts.

Katrina placed her hands on her hips, and Rudy stilted to halt next to her. She tilted her head.

"Vanessa. Regina," she greeted. Roy vaguely recalled that whilst she didn't mind Delia, she wasn't fond of Regina, because she kept writing things down. "I plan to take lots of pictures tonight. Be selfie ready."

Delia couldn't hide her lopsided frown. Meanwhile, Regina perked, and gave a thumbs-up.

"Of course!"

Typical. Roy should have expected no less. "Ladies," he said, batting away his resignation.

"Good evening, Your Highness!" Regina chirruped.

Delia grinned. "Nice Dracula costume."

Roy tried to scrummage through his memory for whatever pop culture reference Delia alluded to, but came up short.

He ended up just grinning back. "Same to you. Well, not Dracula… you know what I mean."

"Are you excited for tonight?" Regina said. "It sure sounds like it'll be fun!"

Despite the Bonfire Ball being in honour of the Twinces and Aunt Philippa, it was nice to enjoy some dancing, food and music, with his Selected girls and family. He could look forward to that, too, along with the s'mores. "I am," he said.

With Katrina's iron grip on Rudy, Roy figured he might as well escort both girls inside himself, not needing to ask whether they were trying to impress the Twinces. Both Delia and Regina eagerly knotted their arms with his, and together, they marched onwards to the Illéa Wing. The halls had been redecorated with multi-coloured streamers, pops of orange or attacks of green and gold. Live music lilted from the other side of the double doors, and a bouquet of balloons had been tied to the door. The butlers outside, waiting to open the doors, had skulls painted on their cheeks.

Katrina waved them in. "You three first. I have to go last to leave the impression."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Ready, ladies?"

"I'm so ready!" Delia said, pumped.

Regina grinned friskily. "I am very ready for this! Uh huh!"

The butlers opened the doors.

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The music hit Roy first. It wasn't classical, as he was expecting – but upbeat jazz, layered with trumpets and swing beats. The band was herded onto a wooden dais in one corner of the ballroom. Streamers of all colours hung from the curtained windows at the back, along with creepy cobwebs veiling the potted plants and chair corners. A buffet table brimmed with silver platters of both Illéan and English foods – sandwiches, scones, mini hot dogs and sausage rolls, marshmallows with ghost eyes, or carrots shaped like fingers. Punch, the colour of lime green or dark red. Roy could definitely spot bread-and-butter pudding, a favourite from the English menu, along with carrot cupcakes, his favourite food in general.

Velvet chairs lined two sides of the ballroom, around a wooden floor. Members of the royal court, Selected girls and other esteemed guests danced in droves, all masquerading as Halloween caricatures or costumed effigies.

He escorted Vanessa and Regina inside, scouring the excited crowd with his eyes. Then, near the curtained windows – he spotted a walking hotdog. Merrick, dressed in a felt hotdog costume, talked to two brown-haired, _shirtless_ men, with flutes of red wine in their hands.

Roy dropped his mouth open. _Alex and Barney_.

They were also dressed as vampires.

It was obvious, with minor bloodstains slapped onto their pallor faces. But the biggest difference was they'd shucked the fangs, cloak, waistcoat and tie _and_ the shirt to show off their, oddly glimmering, six-packs.

Roy's brain was a rope, and he could feel it twisting and coiling, becoming brittle with each second he dared to look. They'd come as vampires, all right – but as the _sexy_ version.

Regina followed Roy's gaze, and blanched. "Oh… dear…"

Why hadn't Roy thought to come shirtless? Then he could dispel those stupid _it's-drawn-on_ rumours for good!

"If it helps," said Regina, "your costume is far more authentic."

He sighed. "Thanks for trying."

Delia twisted her lips. "Why are they shirtless?"

One of many of life's unanswered questions.

He let her and Regina go their own ways – both mooching their way to Sherlock, dressed as… well, _Sherlock_ , and Elise, dressed as a Red Riding Hood.

Katrina and Rudy had also entered – Katrina stealing _no_ attention of the Twinces away from Merrick, and she'd gone to huff with a group of the Selected. Rudy came up behind Roy. It was difficult to hear his soft voice over the music.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Roy said, glaring at the Twinces. "They always manage to one-up me."

Rudy cocked an eyebrow. "Nonsense. They have not one-upped you." He lifted his head. "They certainly have not one-upped _me_." Still, he sighed. "I'd better get back to work. You know where I am if you need me."

"Sure," said Roy, watching his butler leave without so much as a look back. Now that Roy was alone, he wasn't sure where to look first. There was an abundance of colour and costume, consuming his vision. If he could ignore the niggling that were the Twinces, Roy could easily enjoy himself.

A hand pressed his shoulder. "Ah, Dracula. Good choice."

Roy turned to Ji-Yu. She was wearing pretty much her usual formal wear – a stark white _hanbok_ , white tights and pumps. For a moment, Roy thought she was attending her own wedding again, until he noticed that her face had been painted a gaunt white, like a ghost. Her hair had been backcombed as well.

Ji-Yu followed his glower, and then sighed. "I can't help but notice that their costumes are rather…" she winced, " _barren_."

Roy crossed his arms and muttered, "Trying to show me up."

Ji-Yu stood in front of him, blocking his view. "Forget them, if it bothers you that much. Just enjoy the party. With the…" she whispered, " _problem_ at hand, this might be the only time where you can enjoy yourself fully."

Of course. A spy wouldn't dare attack in front of a crowd. Make a move that could be spotted by hundreds of people.

"I've permitted you to have maximum two glasses of wine. The staff know. I don't want to have to drag you from a gutter, so I implore you to bare this in mind."

His eyes wandered to the buffet table. A glass or two sounded delightful right about now.

"Also know that the _Illéan Times_ photographers are present."

A flash caught his eye – Roy swirled to see, with horror, Rainerd Snaps weaving between the crowd and capturing moments on his bulky camera. He didn't need Ji-Yu telling him that Clarity was here too, creeping in the shadows of the partygoers. This Ball would be printed in history – a crossing between two countries, two families, two allies.

With a stern, but caring look, Ji-Yu glided off to speak with Advisors Gemima, Ramsbottom, and Eleanor Cahill, all dressed in formal wear.

Roy suppressed his sigh. _Have fun_ , he told himself. _Stop worrying about everything_.

He ambled around, coming across Levinia. She'd chosen a _bunny suit_ to appear in, the cups pushing up her breasts, the corset accentuating her frame. Trademark bunny ears flopped over her curled hair, and white, cuffed gloves fit her hands.

She cocked an eyebrow and winked at Roy as he approached. "Well, hello, Prince Roy. Cute costume."

He blushed – the damn Merrick genes attacking him, once more. Of all the words, why _cute_?

He crossed his arms, and forced his gaze to remain on her eyes – her dark, enticing eyes. "Excuse me, but I am a remorseless assassin that kills for fun and strikes fear into the living."

She flashed her tongue. "You were very _remorseless_ the other day, weren't you?"

The day they were caught in the Chateau Drawing Room. The lust of her kisses, the heat of the embrace, the mingling of their tongues and breath. He hated to admit to himself that he _liked_ being dragged by tie into a secret amour. Well, not so secret, when Gail and Rudy had walked in.

Gail had called Levinia _Levvy_ that day. It was his turn to smirk, at least to battle the blush away. "Are you going to be waylaying me again, _Levvy_?"

The words drew a quirked smile from her. "Princess Gail is sweet enough to nickname me."

"Since when have you two been so close?"

She smiled – this time, with no raw desire that made Roy want to melt. No, this was the same as before, the motherly love flowing from her like gentle music in a lullaby. "Princess Gail often visits the Women's Room. She liked to make rounds between the girls, and often…" her smile died, "saw me sitting by myself."

Levinia… didn't have many friends? Roy wanted to say he was surprised, but honestly, he wasn't. She was one of the most popular family members on _Livin' it with the Lefrays_ , but perhaps the reality was distorted. He'd seen her alone on every occasion he'd visited the Women's Room, too, staring out into the horizons beyond on her perch on the windowsill.

Thinking about her true affinity with the rebels?

Roy chided himself inwardly. _Don't think about that. Relax. Have fun_.

She looked like she was about to add something more when, low and behold, Gail bounded inside. Ditching the innocent fairy theme, she wore a witch costume – an orange and green tutu flaring from her tiny frame, a gnarled broomstick in hand, and a witch's hat perched upon her curled hair. She spotted Roy and Levinia by the door, and brightened, sprinting over.

"Scary Roooooy!" she piped. "Bunny Levvy!"

"Nice costume, you rascal," Roy said, pinching her cheeks. She giggled.

"You look very adorable, Princess Gail," said Levinia – that softness again, exclusively Gail's.

Gail beamed up at her. "I know." She swerved around, roving her keen eyes on the colour. She spotted Vanessa Hardy sitting by the side, on the row of empty velvet chairs, and yelled, "Princess Elsa!" before running off towards her.

Roy nodded his head. "Well, if you'll excuse me," he said, eyeing the buffet table, "I have red wine— er, _blood_ to acquire."

Levinia smirked. "Of course."

He walked away – but not before turning to sneak a glance at Levinia's backside. Yes, by the curve of her bottom, was a fluffy cottontail, and he whipped his head around, blushing. A mistake to look – now the image was branded into his memory.

He approached the table. A maid, wearing a Satan mask that was veined with bloody lines, curtsied in her layers of black-and-white skirts. Her hair was knotted behind her head, covered by the headband of horns.

"Red wine, Your Highness?"

"Desperately," muttered Roy.

She grabbed a bottle of red wine from underneath the tablecloth and tipped it over a glass flute. The liquid sloshed against the sides, filling to halfway.

He frowned at it. "Er, more, please."

But the maid handed the glass to him as it was. "I have been instructed to give you no more, Your Highness."

Roy narrowed his eyes. "My mother has said I could have two glasses tonight."

"New rules," said the maid quickly.

New rules? She'd told him less than ten minutes ago. Perhaps this maid was just stingy, or wanted him to take his drink slowly. In any case, he could just sneak to another maid, fibbing about the lack of alcohol in his system. Cursing his luck, he nodded exasperatedly, taking the drink from her hands, and he turned – nearly slamming into Persephone Cahill, Luna Bellini-Torres and Maeve Reynolds.

Roy inhaled their costumes. Persephone wore a sensuous black dress, rippling down her like rivers of poison. Make-up had achieved a pale gradient on her face, from her natural peach complexion to a ghostly white, and a crown of stone crested her head. Even her hair had been spray-died the white of a spider's web. Literally a personification of her name: Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.

Luna, by contrast, was the exact opposite. Patterned in rainbow butterfly wings, her cocktail dress sparkled as it hit the light. Small decorative butterflies dotted her silver shoes, and a cloak the shape of a butterfly's wings adorned her.

And Maeve – Roy was just baffled looking at her. For the most part, he recognised a Hawaiian dancer, with the coconut bra, grass skirt, and tropical lei. But she'd paired the outfit with tennis shoes, neon pink socks, and bright red boxing gloves.

Maeve grinned at his bewildered expression. "Any ideas?"

He looked her over once. "Nope."

"I'm Hawaiian _punch_."

Persephone snorted, and Luna cracked a smile. Roy nearly slapped the flute onto his forehead.

"That is _terrible_ ," he said.

She adjusted the lei. "My speciality."

"Well, as long as you're all enjoying yourselves?"

"It's a nice atmosphere," said Luna.

"Agreed," said Persephone with a nod – she frowned. "We came over to you because you looked a little… lost in thought."

 _On the money_. Roy had too many thoughts right now. He raised the glass to his lips, ready to drink. "Yep. That's me. After the attack, I just… have a lot on my mind right now." He sighed, flickering an unamused glance at the Twinces. "Plus those two _losers_ are completely ruining my life."

Maeve laughed and pounded a hand on her chest. "It sounds like you need a dance!"

Before he could object, Maeve yanked the drink from his hand, sticking it back on the buffet table, and dragged him to the dance floor, the melodies of the band tremoring right through to Roy's bones. Maeve grinned, rolling her hips and flapping her arms up and down.

"Come on, HRH!" he could barely hear her yell over the thunder of the trumpets, the boom of the eager drumbeats.

Roy chuckled, copying her steps. Amongst the others dancing sensibly, including Merrick and Ji-Yu, they looked a comical pair. He could swear he heard Merrick laugh. The atmosphere stole his worry, and he could feel the tension in his muscles relaxing, the swing of the jazz overtaking him.

Persephone eventually joined them both, copying Maeve's bizarre dance move with fervour, giggling loudly at how silly they all looked. It didn't take long for Avianna to join in, bumping Roy in her raven-feathered hips as she went, plus Elise, nearly tripping multiple times on her luscious red cloak, and Riley, the tassels on her flapper dress catching the light.

And when the band hit a high note, then rounded the song off, Roy braced himself against his knees and panted. No doubt, sweat was careening down his made-up face, but bouts of incontrollable giggles overran him, and he ended up laughing hysterically.

"Your dancing is terrible!" Avianna said, tapping his arm.

"Not as bad as Maeve's!" laughed Elise.

"My dancing is great, thank you!" Maeve protested, sending them all into a fit of giggles again.

"I am _tired_ ," Roy wheezed out. "I need a drink."

He glanced over to the buffet table, to see the Satan maid leaning forwards, with Roy's glass eagerly flourished in the air. Even without drinking anything, he could feel the delicious sweet taste coating his tongue, and he shivered pleasantly at the thought before stumbling over.

"Your glass, Your Highness!" said Satan the maid.

He reached for it – a voice behind him rang out.

"Are you supposed to be a living incarnation of sweat?"

Roy groaned – _Alex_.

All cheery reminisces of sweet wine vaulted away, and he swerved around to face him. Alex and Barney stood with flutes of wine in their right hands, their left hands behind their backs, and their postures identical. They dragged their glowers down, absorbing Roy's sweaty and out-danced vampire costume. Up close, Roy could see that earlier had been no trick of the light – their six-packs _literally_ glittered. He didn't want to stare, because that was weird, but there was hardly anything else to look at.

The _living incarnation of sweat_ was still the stupidest thing he'd heard today. "At least my chest isn't glowing," he snapped back.

"It is part of the costume, Fitz," said Alex, with a smirk.

"What kind of vampire sparkles?" He waved at them airily, chortling. "It doesn't matter. You're just using it to impress the Selected girls, and it won't work. They're not superficial."

"Really?" Barney arched an eyebrow, and he glanced to the side. "Some of the Selected girls seemed to be quite enamoured with me earlier."

Roy's attention snapped to follow his, and – of course – it landed on Alisa, chatting heartily with Natasha. Alisa, dressed in a pirate's garb, complete with tall leather boots and plastic sword at her hip. Anger unravelled in Roy again, and he scrunched up his face.

"You _know_ the rules—"

"I never _do_ anything," Barney countered, rolling his eyes. "I merely _converse_ with them."

Alex raised his flute. "It's not their fault you're not much to look at."

No. _No_. Roy blocked out their comments. Alisa and the rest of the girls weren't stupid – they would never fall for Barney's mesmerising words, his gentlemanly actions that could appease to the strictest of people. Alisa herself had said so, at the meet-and-greet in the Chateau Drawing Room, and Natasha had wholeheartedly agreed. Blushes and fluster were just acts to make Barney _think_ he was converting them to the dark side.

All the girls would have their guards up. Barney would be played for the fool in the end.

The insult still stung, but Roy let that thought fuel him, and eased into his firm suit. "You two enjoy yourselves. _I_ need a drink."

"Oh," said Alex. "You can have mine."

Alex tipped his glass in Roy's direction, and, as if in slow motion, Roy watched the liquid swim free from the confines of the glass, and smack onto his trousers. A cherry smell burst into the air, and Roy let out a yelp, zipping backwards – he felt liquid squirm into the fabric of his trousers and cling to his leg.

He left his mouth ajar. This was a deliberate, unfettered attempt to stomp on Roy's reputation. This was beyond the point of return.

 _This was war_.

Plumes of raging smoke rose within Roy, and he conjured the evillest glare he could muster. Another lava stream of Korean insults thrummed in his mind, but he slammed his jaw shut to stop him from breaking out into an all-out swearing contest.

Alex placed a hand to his bare chest. "Goodness me, you are _frightfully_ clumsy." He clicked his fingers, gesturing, and yelled as loudly as possible, "Maids! The prince has spilt a drink onto himself!"

" _You_ spilt—"

"Goodness, cousin," Barney cut through, with a grin that reeked of an evil mastermind. "Perhaps you shouldn't have anything more to drink. We don't need any further accidents."

Luckily, Roy's trousers were black, so the stain didn't show too badly. He just had an outrageous wet patch running down his leg.

The Satan maid shuffled over, glancing between Alex's suddenly empty glass and Roy's trousers. "Would you like tissues, Your Highness?" She nudged her head to Roy's glass, now occupying the gap between the eyeball-pies and dung-shaped chocolate on the buffet table. "You haven't touched your wine."

At least one person knew. Still, tissues could hardly fix this issue. Glowering at the twins, he gritted out, "No, that's _fine_. I'll go _change_."

Alex and Barney sniggered as Roy blitzed out of the room, every sensation of the party burning through his vision like shadows of fire. His neck and forehead throbbed with incensed anger, riding like herds of angry buffalos through him. Nothing, right now, sounded more pleasant than dunking Alex's stupid head into a vat of toxic wine, and tossing Barney off a cliff. He wondered if he could have that ordered, as a command from the future king.

At least Rudy would be on hand to fix the situation. Both of them had prepared for this sort of intimidation dance between Roy and the Twinces, after all. If the drink was a surface spillage, he could easily flip his trousers inside-out, but now the stupid liquid was foraging the skin of his legs, so now he was forced to change. A spare ensemble costume awaited him in his wardrobe for precisely this problem, and he intended to return with full fury and a desire for real blood.

Just to change first.

He careened down several corridors, approaching the hallway with his bedroom, thinking of ways he could get back at those insufferable men he was forced to call _family_.

"—are _not_ having this talk now, Joseph."

A voice – _Rudy's_ voice – drifted like a low slither from around the corner, and Roy came to a halt. He'd never heard Rudy _hiss_ like that before.

A pause, and then. "When _are_ we going to have this talk, Ru? Because you haven't said a proper word to me in _weeks_."

Roy had to stop himself from gasping. Was that… Officer Durante's voice? He'd never heard him so emotive, like a raw tension crafting his voice like fine ebony wood. Usually, he was so perfectly stoic and unamused. He'd said so _many_ words, too, which was practically poetry for him… Roy approached the corner, crouched, and peeked around.

It was Rudy and Officer Durante, all right, standing outside Roy's ajar bedroom door. Rudy held a stack of towels, plus a pile of Roy's black trousers, and glared up at Durante with not a hint of intimidation – but there was definitely a blossom of crimson on his cheeks. On the other hand, Durante's normally strict figure had relaxed to an easy frame leant against the wall, but his arms were crossed and the graveness of his expression was present.

And something else. _Hurt_.

Roy stared, wide-eyed. Was he witnessing… what he thought he was witnessing?

Rudy clucked his tongue, ripping his gaze away and glaring at the towels instead. "We talked just fine the day they brought Iscariot here. We fetched His Highness _together_ , I might add."

Durante snorted. "That doesn't count, and you know it. We talked about _work_." He paused, softening. "This is personal."

"Regardless," Rudy said, seemingly ignoring the comment. "There is nothing to discuss."

Durante widened his eyes. "Yes, there is!" He lowered his voice. "You can't go on two dates with me and then say _nothing_."

Dates. _Two dates_.

Roy processed this information.

 _A secret paramour_.

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Roy could hardly believe his ears, comprehend his eyes, marry his senses together to compile the truth right in front of him.

Rudy and Officer Durante were _dating_.

It didn't appear the _secret paramour_ was about to remain intact for longer, though.

Durante continued, not waiting for Rudy's answer. "You've had plenty of time to think, so let's talk about this whilst everyone is at the ball." In a whisper, he said, "You enjoyed those two dates. You told me as much."

"I… I did," Rudy admitted – a flush as fierce as his hair.

"So what's the problem?" Durante's shoulders dropped. "Is it… me?"

"No," Rudy snapped. "You're fine."

Durante chuckled – it was a low sound, like brandy and ganache mixing into one. "I'm _fine_? Why, thank you."

Rudy shot him a sharp look. "Not funny."

The amusement vanished. "What else, then? Is it…" he paused, suddenly standing upright. "You have feelings for… the prince?"

Roy's heart stopped.

Rudy, luckily, had a similar reaction, swerving to face Durante, his mouth open. " _What_?!" he spluttered. "Don't be ridiculous! I've known the boy since he was twelve!" He shook his head. "He's a brother to me!"

Roy blew out a silent breath, equally heart-warmed and relieved. _That_ could have been awkward.

"I'm just trying to approach this from all angles, because you're not being clear with me," said Durante. The pain in his eyes was indescribable – he looked like he so badly wanted to embrace Rudy in his arms. "I like you. You like me. It's that simple."

There was such tenderness in Durante's voice that Roy wasn't sure this was the same hard-faced guard that protected him from enemies every day.

But Rudy snorted. "Oh, it is certainly _not_ simple," he said. "I… just _don't_ want to mix my personal and work life." He inhaled a long breath. "For goodness sake, even _His Highness_ has suggested that you and I should get together. He's cottoning on!"

"Let him!" Durante said. "If he's suggesting it, he's probably all right with it! Besides, what's wrong with work lives mixing with personal? That's how people meet all the time."

"This isn't the same," Rudy relented. "You and I work in such close proximity of each other. We have the same charge. Do you know how awkward it will be if something… happens between us? If we break up?"

Durante's frown was crooked. "I can work with exes, and I know you well enough that if we broke up, you'd just snark at me for the rest of our working days. I'd be fine with it," he said. "But you're never going to be my ex unless you are my _boyfriend_ , first."

At the word _boyfriend_ , Rudy hissed. Roy couldn't tear his eyes away. He wasn't sure if this was going to end well for Durante – given the flames burning in Rudy's eyes.

"Look, the dates were… wonderful, all right? You're… calming and kind and…" he gritted his teeth and added flippantly, " _somewhat_ attractive." A pause. "But I've also realised that it won't be worth the tension if something happens. So I'm going to politely decline your offer, and leave it at that."

Roy adjusted himself, keeping his wobbling legs steady, ignoring the cloying scent of the sticky wine on his leg. Rudy shut the door to Roy's room, appearing as if he were about to leave, but Durante spoke, a sudden burst in the intermittent silence.

"Remember the work party a few months ago?" He paused. "When you admitted that you liked me?"

Rudy seemed to turn into stone, and his wavering hand froze by his side. "I remember."

"You said," Durante whispered, "that you had an entire platoon of guards to compete against. For _me_."

Mottled with an annoyed blush, Rudy fixed him with a cold stare. "I was drunk, may I remind you."

But Durante smiled, as innocuous as the blooming of a lily flower.

"You never had to compete, Ru. I was always yours."

Roy felt tears well in his eyes, swept up in the tenderness of the moment, a stolen patter of time between a butler and a guard.

Rudy scoffed and choked at the same time, but an insane amount of blush crawled down his neck. It nearly blended with his hair. He tore his eyes away.

"That's disgustingly corny, Joseph."

Durante chuckled. "Worth it. You're blushing." He stilled, that wish to see the space close between them easing him again. "However corny it is… I still mean every word."

They gazed at each other for a long, stolen moment, reading each other's flickering movements and the burning of their opulent expressions. Like an invisible hand had stretched between them, shattering and remoulding at once. Words unspoken, only sounded through the rise of their chests or their shallow breaths. Durante's attempt to break through Rudy's wall… had it worked?

Roy wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Should he leave? He really needed his trousers in that bedroom, but he didn't want to interrupt.

Rudy broke away first, crinkling his nose and lifting his head. The marshmallow Rudy was gone, replaced with the cynical butler that Roy knew so well – and Durante knew better.

"I'm sure you mean it." He turned on his heel, his coattails swirling – to face Roy's direction, and marched with intent. "But I have a job to do, Officer."

Roy bit down a yelp. He was coming this way. _This way_. Roy jerked back and to his feet, spinning around frantically to search for a hiding spot, but the alcoves were too narrow or filled with ginormous pot plants. There was a reason Rudy kept it secret, and if he was caught— if Rudy noticed him here… he was beyond dead.

He could hear Durante scramble after Rudy. "All right, that was corny. But… please, maybe we can work something out—"

Rudy appeared around the corner, the towels and laundry in hand.

Roy froze dead, but it was too late. They'd made eye contact.

 _Busted_.

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 **A/N:** Ahah! Did you suspect Rudy/ Durante? Because you were right! :P I'm glad you readers picked up on the small hints, lol. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I made another poll, btw... for lulz. No close date! You need to be on desktop/ desktop version of mobile to view it. ;)

Reviews, favourites and follows loved and appreciated! Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "This was, by far, Roy's weirdest elimination yet."


	23. The Bonfire Ball, Part 2

For moments, Roy could only hope he was invisible, that Rudy was staring straight through him into the empty corridor. The tense moment only seemed to attract Roy's attention to the soaking wine infused with his trouser leg, clinging to him, as if waiting for a reaction with just as much fervent anticipation. The powdered make-up on Roy's face, too, sucked the pores on his cheeks like sucking in a breath to hold.

But their gazes clashed, Rudy's eyes twinkling with realisation. Then, his shoulders slackened, and he didn't blink. Not once. He had turned very, very still.

" _R-Roy?_ "

Officer Durante skidded to halt behind him – and his face sucked of colour the moment his eyes settled on Roy. He had unbuttoned the stiff collar of his uniform, and his hand flew up to rectify it.

"Oh _shit_ ," he swore under his breath.

Roy immediately held his hands up in a surrendering position.

"Ahah! What a coincidence seeing you two young gentlemen here!" he said, his voice bordering a yell. "I was just coming down here to… er," he zipped to a plant tucked in an alcove, and stroked its smooth vase, " _admire_ this beautiful pottery! Very crafts! Much ceramics! So patterns!"

Rudy's eyebrows dipped into his face, knitting into an angry crease. He darkened.

"How much did you hear?"

Welp. Roy baulked. "What? Hear what?"

"You're a terrible liar, Your Highness."

He was.

Roy grimaced. "Erm… well… there was something about you guys _dating_ …"

Rudy's fists clenched hard around the towels and laundry, blanching nearly to the same starchy cotton colour. He swerved to Durante.

"This is _your_ fault."

Durante had lost the flirty sparkle that had captivated him earlier, and he stared, a mixture of dumbfounded and horrified. "I… what?"

Before anyone could retort, Rudy marched around Roy, down the corridor and away. Durante, still frozen, watched him go, his outstretched hand suspended in air.

Roy glanced between them – eventually, he caved, waving away Durante and chasing after a butler who had seemingly developed a hasty walk. He yanked out his false fangs and discarded them onto the floor.

"Rudy! Wait!" he yelled.

Rudy turned the corridor, blazing in a trail of anger and embarrassment, ignoring Roy's plea. Roy swerved the corridor after him, but Rudy was already halfway down. A patrol of guards stood to attention at his presence, too, so Roy skidded to halt and pointed, thrusting power into his voice.

"By order of the prince, I _demand_ that you, Rudolf, stop right there!"

At this, Rudy came to a reluctant halt, letting out a loud aggravated sigh. The guards, luckily, moved on with haste, probably realising something serious was about to go down. Roy slowed to Rudy, noting the heavy embarrassment painted on his cheeks, and refusal to meet Roy's eye.

"Hey, look," he started, breathless. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Rudy said coldly.

Roy stopped dead. "You don't—?"

"No," snapped Rudy, an embarrassed and angry flush wreaking havoc on his cheeks. "So if you'll excuse me, _Your Highness_ , I have laundry to do."

Roy grabbed him before he could run off again. "Rudy, really, I didn't mean to eavesdrop on any of it—"

"How long were you there?"

Roy froze. "That… that doesn't matter."

"It does, because you could have seen we were having a _private_ conversation, and _walked away_ ," Rudy said, scowling. "And now you know."

Roy felt a wash of hurt, and he slipped his hand away. "Is… is that really a bad thing? I don't care what you guys do in your free time. And I won't tell a soul, I promise."

"I don't _care_ about you telling anyone!" Rudy shrilled. "I care that my personal life is no longer _personal_!"

The hurt turned solid within him, and Roy found himself lost for words that could ease the situation, plaster the wound ripping between them. "I… I'm sorry… I don't know what else to say…"

"Then don't _say_ anything," Rudy retorted, "and just leave me alone."

He made to leave – but he first wrinkled his nose, and tossed a pair of trousers at Roy with a deeper scowl. They weren't fresh, but creased and worn once before. Rudy blazed down the corridor, no longer the enveloped in that tender moment, destroyed of hope or kindness.

Roy fumbled with the trousers, watching Rudy turn down a corridor and disappear. He felt a cavern opening within him – his butler, his best friend, his _brother_ , shunning him away like a common criminal. The wall Roy always knew about, that Rudy built with wit and sarcasm, coming to head between them, herding them away like cattle.

There wasn't anything Roy could do now. He could only wait, and hope Rudy would calm down, even though he desperately wanted to chase after him and apologise for his nosiness, heal the fragile wound between them.

Sighing, Roy made for the nearest bathroom to change.

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Roy made his way back to the Bonfire Ball with a lump in his throat. On a normal day, and interaction with either Rudy or Durante would invigorate him. But, this time around, the tension between them had only made the situation worse. He desired revenge against the Twinces, almost lusted after it like a bloodthirsty vampire, but he was in no emotional state to do so. He'd find a way to get back at them, sure, but not tonight.

There was still time to salvage the ball, to turn it into a night to enjoy himself – the festivities weren't over yet.

He re-entered the Bonfire Ball, only to spot his Aunt Philippa, dressed as a dead bride – complete with a lavish, bloodstained wedding gown – nodding sagely with Merrick and Ji-Yu. A bottle of sherry passed between them, Merrick nursing his glass, and Ji-Yu with nearly the glass finished. Whatever they were talking about, it seemed serious enough that Roy should be concerned, but not serious enough for him to approach them about it.

Instead, he spotted Vanessa Hardy still sitting by herself on the chairs by the far wall, a near-full flute of champagne in her hands. Her turquoise dress and glittering cloak of snowflakes pooled around her feet, and her hair was braided over one shoulder. Gail had spoken to her earlier – Vanessa obviously hadn't moved from those chairs.

He ambled over, taking a seat and crossing his legs. "Not a party person?"

She stiffened. "No, not particularly."

He'd gleaned that Vanessa was always curt and polite with Roy. Not a bad thing, he'd reasoned since, but he was always curious what she was like when the walls were down.

He smirked. "As you can tell by my quiet and understated history, I hate parties."

She didn't seem to catch on at first, his blatant sarcasm, but she did crack a smile in the end. The jazz filled the spaces between them.

"You're a dancer, aren't you?" he tried again, recalling her history. Then, he chuckled. "What did you think of our earlier display? Maeve certainly knows how to bust some moves."

Vanessa only smiled politely. "Yes, she is funny." She grasped her flute. "My dancing is… too different to judge."

"What's your style?"

"Ballet."

"Ooooh," Roy said, now intrigued. "You know how to do _the cheese-string_?"

"Cheese-string?" Even though she sounded confused, her face portrayed another layer of a rigid expression.

"Yeah. You know, when your feet are together and facing opposite directions, and then you bend your knees. Your legs split, and it's like a cheese-string."

"… You mean a _plié_?"

Roy narrowed his eyes. "That sounds like the proper name of the cheese-string technique."

She smiled again, but not enough to crinkle her eyes, and she soon she fell back into a natural silence, a whisper in a crowd. Even though Roy opened with what he thought was a good conversation starter, the silence between his ears grew painful.

If he'd learnt anything in the last hour, it was that walls of the heart were not easy to break down.

So much for salvaging the night. Now he couldn't even find company to take his mind off it. Vanessa couldn't find humour in his stupid unprofessional names for dancing techniques. A wall was still a wall, and Roy wasn't sure he wanted to scale it after all. He sighed, sitting straighter.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't think… I don't think _us_ is going to be a thing."

That sent a ripple of emotion through her – startled. She turned to face him, her eyes wide and lips scrunched together. "You… don't think _us_ …?"

The other eliminations had occurred in non-occasional settings. This was a first. "Yeah," he said. "It's been great getting to know you, but… I don't think you're my type."

"… Oh," she said, mixed with a hint of disappointment.

He gestured to the buffet. "But you're welcome to stay until tomorrow morning."

Vanessa was, completely, lost for words. This was, by far, Roy's weirdest elimination yet.

"Erm, so…" he said, if only to fill the gap. Spotting the buffet table between pockets of the partygoers, he jumped up to stand. "Anyway, it's been nice seeing you. And your costume is great."

He scampered away, scooting between the mingling bodies. His heart twitched with each beat, letting him know with ferocity that Vanessa's elimination had been awkward thricefold. He almost wanted to go back to eliminating Torrence again.

He headed for the buffet table – now he _really_ needed that drink – before a tap on his shoulder ripped his attention away. He turned, coming neatly to face Skylar Davenport. She was dressed as a ninja, with black arm and shin pads bulking her small frame. Her gloved hands were occupied with a paper plate of finger food and a glass of wine. Still holding on her glass, she managed to pop a wedge of clementine in her mouth, which had been styled to look like a pumpkin.

"Great party, Your Highness!" she said, grinning. "The food is so good!"

He stared, wondering how she could balance so much food on her plate. "I can see that."

"Oh, and the wine!" She seemed to soften. "You have to try it, Your Highness. That stuff is _good_."

If only Ji-Yu hadn't enforced a stupid half-glass rule. Then, he could enjoy it at least half as much as Skye appeared to. She lifted her glass.

"Do you want to try some?"

He shook his head, but it wasn't without a smile. "I was about to go grab some, actually. Thanks."

Skye grinned. Bits of clementine pith were stuck in her teeth. "Oh, well, don't let me stop you!"

He gave her a thumbs-up, scenting the sweet wine flavour over the ambience of the Halloween crowd, and meandered through the bodies once more. The buffet table wasn't far – just through another pocket of people.

A brown top hat, decorated with feathers and an antique watch, levelled over the crowd, Roy ended up face-to-face with Camilla Daugherty, dressed in steampunk attire, right down to the goggles hanging over her neck. She appeared to be in mid-conversation with Lilly Carter, in a heavy light-blue gown with a lacy corset – Roy thought of Marie Antoinette – plus Eulalia, who wore her usual shabby crocheted dress. Ferelith Riverly, too, stood next to her. Her cream Greek goddess outfit layered the floor in silk.

He didn't know how attached to that buffet table he'd become after he got his hands on the wine. A short conversation wouldn't stifle him for long. At least Vanessa's awkward elimination was shooed from his thoughts.

"Good evening, ladies," he rambled. "Enjoying the party?"

Awe transformed Lilly's face, and she signed. Her dress sleeves were so long, they nearly shrouded her hands.

Eulalia smiled. "Lilly thinks everyone's costumes are amazing."

"So is yours, Lilly," complimented Roy. He rounded to Greek goddess Ferelith and steampunk girl Camilla. "Both of yours, too!"

"Thank you, Your Highness," Camilla said, a smile edging on her lips.

Ferelith knotted her hands together, suddenly demure, but she smiled, and nodded all the same.

He held up his hands in claw-like poses. It probably wasn't as effective without his fangs, but he shrugged it off. "Am I the scariest creature present? Do I strike fear into the very centre of your hearts?"

Eulalia translated, " _Extremely_!"

"I think…" Ferelith said, braving her words, "you look like the real Dracula."

Camilla frowned, her eyes darting elsewhere. "More authentic than your… erm, cousins, Your Highness, if I may say so…"

She may. Roy revelled in their compliments. "They told me they're vampires. But… no vampires sparkle." He laughed. "It's ridiculous."

Camilla exchanged a glance with Ferelith. When Eulalia translated to Lilly, she joined in on their collected disappointment.

"Erm," Camilla eventually ended up saying. "They're… Twilight vampires."

"Twilight vampires? What's that?"

Ferelith's whisper could barely be heard. "It's a romance novel, came out hundreds of years ago… quite popular with women."

Popular with women. Of course it was.

They really _had_ chosen their damn costumes to impress his Selected. _His_ Selected. Treading a fine line between harmless teasing and all out treason.

Could Roy have someone jailed for dressing up as a sparkly vampire?

Roy buried the growl rising in his throat. "I see." He bared no ill-will towards this _Twilight_ , but at least his version of a vampire was the original, and he let this knowledge lift him into superiority. "They obviously copied me."

Another girl elbowed through the crowd towards the group. Roy instantly recognised Chiara Romani-Carriedo's fedora and suit. She stopped short at threshold of the circle, with her arms across and her eyes stirring with anger.

"There you are, Your Highness," she barked through her bright red lips, her arms crossing. "I saw what those twin _idiota_ s did to you, and I'm furious!" She scrunched up her face, taking her role as mafia boss almost as seriously as her costume suggested. "We should revolt against them! Kick them out! Something!"

Camilla gripped her flute, and hardened her frown. "Yeah, I saw that stunt they pulled earlier, too. It was very unkind of them… if I can say so, again."

Roy so wanted to take Chiara up on that offer – to mob them with pitchforks, flaming torches and live chainsaws. Alas, this was a subtler type of battle – one fought with taunts, sharp comments, and minor pranks. He palmed a fist.

"We'll get our revenge. Don't you worry."

The band suddenly stopped – and a kerfuffle of chatting, laughing and dancing pounded in Roy's ears. Slowly, it quieted, the clink of a glass ringing out. Roy turned, peering over the confused heads at the dais with the band. Philippa delicately tapped her glass with a fork.

"Attention! Attention!" she called. "I'd like to say a few words!"

Silence, and so Philippa cleared her throat and continued.

"Firstly, I'd like to thank my wonderful family, my sister-in-law, Her Majesty Ji-Yu, and my marvellous brother, King Merrick, for hosting this party in mine and my sons' honour. We are humbled and welcomed to this fine country, and hope that the bond between the United Kingdom Commonwealth and Illéa will continue to grow strong!"

The crowd cheered. Roy clapped – was his aunt a little drunk?

"I also have another announcement to make."

Roy stopped clapping, narrowing his eyes.

She blew out a determined breath. "My two wonderful sons, Prince Alexander of Wales and Duke Barnabas of Cambridge, are set to inherit the throne and run our commonwealth, and although Alexander is the eldest and future king, he and Barnabas will craft the future of our nation together. They will partake in many duties, including visiting other countries to organise foreign affairs, and unite people. However," suddenly, she darkened – it was a side Roy had never seen before. "It has come to my attention that they see this trip as a family holiday, and a chance to shirk their duties. And, although I don't pretend this trip isn't so that we may visit family, it is also a time to learn, to understand, and to embrace cultures across the world."

Roy had to drive down his laugh. They were being publically called out – by their own _mother_. No two people had ever been so deserving.

"As such, I have decided, to help them fully come to terms with their duties to the sovereign, Princes Alexander and Barnabas will remain here after our week holiday, for a month, in order to study and learn of the foreign politics of Illéa."

The crowd cheered – but Roy dropped his mouth open, and dread shredded his limbs.

No. _No_. A week, Roy could hardly tolerate. But a _month_?! It was death incarnate, it was a mausoleum of nightmares come to haunt him.

How could he put up with the twins for a _month_?!

The twins had, apparently, also wanted to scream and cry out, as they scrambled onto the stage, talking in hurried and harried protests. Nothing about their grounded feet, their crossed eyebrows, seemed to say that they'd agreed to this plan. The content of their conversation was drowned out by the manic clicking of cameras, and the clapping of hands. Philippa, however, brushed them off, sauntering off stage for another glass.

Roy turned back to his Selected girls. Camilla had blanched, Ferelith had dropped her shoulders, Lilly's mouth was agape, and Chiara looked about ready to explode.

"A month?!" she hissed. "Those _idiotas_ are staying for a _month_?!"

Roy could hardly believe it himself. Without saying a word, as if his body was on automatic, he plundered back into the crowds of Halloween costumes. Animated chitters were once again squashed under the cacophony of the band, so if anyone tried to talk to Roy on his way to the buffet table, he couldn't hear them.

Right now, he _desperately_ needed this drink. Ji-Yu and Merrick knew very well how much he hated the twins, and how much he hated being forced to stick around them. If the twins were to learn about foreign politics, then that meant he'd see them at meetings, conferences, around the advisors. Heck, even the Selection was mildly political – maybe they'd stick their outrageous noses even deeper into it?

He slammed a hand down on the buffet table, which made the stationed maid jump. It was a different girl this time, no mask – just poisonous mushrooms painted onto her cheeks.

"A drink of wine. _Now_ , please," he commanded.

She scrambled for a spare flute and the red wine bottles scattered on the table top – but the maid from earlier, with the Satan mask, bustled down the table with the half-glass still in her hand from earlier. It was as if she wanted him to drink it as desperately as he did.

"Oh, don't worry! I have yours here!"

She thrust the glass into his hand, Mushroom maid just blinking with a puzzled frown.

Roy guzzled the liquid greedily. And people questioned why he got drunk – it was because moments equal in this party's horribleness tended to steer right into him, and drink seemed to be the only way he could forget, even temporarily.

The liquid, saccharine with a bitter aftertaste, flowed down into his mouth, and he swallowed each drop, before handing it back to the Satan maid. "More, please. And I don't care what _mother_ says about my half-glass limit. I intend to get tipsy."

Satan the maid handed it back to Mushroom the maid, who took it with an equally puzzled expression.

"Your Highness, you're allowed two glasses at this party, per the queen's orders."

 _Two glasses_? He looked at Satan the maid. "But you said… said she'd revoked that order."

But Satan shook her head, cocking it to one side in a confused gesture. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I think you are mistaken."

 _Mistaken_? No. Roy had remembered correctly. He—

Something lurched in his stomach then, like a sea swamp bank flooding his veins. A fatigue so strong crawled through his stomach, up his organs and onto his bones. They turned fragile, and suddenly, he felt a desperate tiredness devour his mind, blinker across his vision like spots of hungry shadows.

What… what the hell was going on?

He glanced at Satan the maid, eyes widening. "I…" he slurred out.

Mushroom the maid peered at Roy. "Your Highness? Are you all right?"

The same force of tiredness raked through his brain, and he could feel one of his knees go. He tried again. "I… what… the wine…"

Satan the maid straightened. "Oh, dear. I think he may have excessed his limit."

His _limit_? Roy would have scoffed if his wretched mouth would obey his commands. His limit was infinity and beyond, not half a damn glass.

He was nowhere close to his limit, but that sweet taste with the lingering bitter current, so unusual for wine…

The _wine_.

Satan the maid rounded the buffet table to him, roping an arm around his shoulders. She wasn't close to Roy's height, but only because of his buckling legs, could she reach around him. "It's okay! I'll help him to the infirmary in East." She nudged Roy's side, speaking loudly. "Come on, Your Highness. We don't want you puking anywhere."

He was helpless as Satan the maid dragged him through the crowd, of whom became increasingly aware of Roy's stumbling, slurred words and erratic gaze. Most stares were pointed and oozing disappointment.

They'd all thought he'd drunk too much.

But Roy… Roy knew the truth, confirmed as the maid in the Satan mask dragged him out of the Bonfire Ball and through a maze of corridors, towards one of the quieter, upper west wings.

He had been poisoned.

Wherever this woman was taking him, it was not the infirmary.

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 **A/N:** Satan the maid, broken brotherly friendships, an unfortunate extended stay... Roy's in a pickle now! I hope you enjoyed it! And I hope you liked the littered cameos throughout the Bonfire Ball chapters, too.

All my thanks to Vanessa's creator, And I'll Write Your Name! Like Roy said, I didn't think she was his type, but still a great character with an intriguing backstory nonetheless.

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave reviews - they really are a writer's most encouraging form of feedback. I think FF's review system has gone kaput _again_ , so I may not be able to reply directly, but know that I love all of them - even from anons! Favourites and follows also immensely appreciated!

~ GWA

NTT: "Today would be the day he died."


	24. Endure

Roy felt the roughness of the carpet rubbing against his shins as the maid in the Satan mask dragged him through the corridors, winding along the halls of the palace. If Roy could speak, if his tongue could respond to him, he would yell and scream and kick a fuss. Alas, whatever had been in that sweet red wine that Satan the maid had fed him, it had rendered the majority of his limbs useless. Including his mouth.

 _Of course_ , his inner critic scolding him. Roy should have noticed that she was wearing a mask to cover her face, whereas the rest of the Bonfire Ball staff had only their cheeks painted with Halloween make-up. Hindsight made him regret guzzling that wine so easily.

Hindsight might as well kick him in his crown jewels for all the good it would do, to stop Satan the maid dragging Roy further closer to his personal hell. Each time Roy passed a guard, clutched in the maid's arms, he tried to arrange his face into panic. Maybe by the knot of his eyebrows or the sallow frown on his lips, they would recognise danger, scent it from him like a nebula.

But the maid would cleverly sing in her most saccharine voice, "His Highness had a bit too much to drink. I'm just escorting him to a free room so he can have a breather."

And each guard would nod with understanding and let them on their way, their knowledge of Roy's alcoholic tendencies allowing them the benefit of the doubt.

"Don't worry, Your Highness. Not too far now!"

 _Where was she taking him?_

A fear rode through his system like a virus, and he felt his weakened muscles fail to clench with resistance, scraping against the potency of the poisoned wine. She hauled him to the other end of the palace in the West Wing, the furthest wing from the Bonfire Ball. Guards passed, doing nothing. Even the palace's CCTV didn't seem to alert anyone that Roy has been taken hostage. Looped? Tampered? If the Southern Rebels had acquired Jordan Iscariot, a technician, no doubt they had other tech nerds waiting in the sidelines to screw him over.

Roy begged whatever god was out there that Durante, or a Selected, or _anyone who knew him_ , would breeze around the corner and spot his predicament.

In the West Wing, with a weak patrol of guards, Satan the maid lead Roy into one of the spare conference rooms, shut the door, and draped him like a lump of stained curtain onto the table. The wood felt cold against his cheek, and he foraged inside him for any sort of strength that would obey. But nothing came.

A sudden realisation palled over him as he relented to his immovable fate. Today would be the day he died.

With no one around to help him, everyone thinking him already wasted, no one would bat an eye at his disappearance. Everyone would assume he'd found the hospital wing, or the spare room to cool off, and not noticed his lengthy disappearance until much later. By then would be too late.

This was the way he would go. This was his legacy.

Satan the maid dropped her fake cheery act, lifting the bustles of her maid skirts and yanking out a smartphone device with a long aerial. It looked almost like a walkie-talkie.

"Ground control, this is Currency Exchange." Her voice echoed harshly back at Roy's ears. "The cash has been transferred. Over."

Roy managed to pull some of his shattered senses together to roll around, but Satan the maid kicked him back over the conference table, and he felt a chair against his back.

An unrecognisable voice soothed into an intimate existence, like velvet and silk and honey. "Excellent work, Currency Exchange. Secure the line and patch me over. I'd like to see the money for myself."

Roy grunted, trying again to pull from a reservoir of power, to gain footing and stumble towards the door. But Satan the maid seized his cloak and draped him flat over the table, forcing him to face the ceiling. Tapping her phone, a brightness encircled her mask, highlighting the cruel veins running down the eyeholes, and held the phone over Roy's face.

He couldn't squint against the light in the dark swathes of the room, but when his stinging eyes adjusted, a hooded figure faded onto the screen. By the bright red lipstick on her thin lips, puckered into a smirk that creased on her ghostly cheeks, she was a middle-aged woman. The hood, like it had with Walter, shielded the rest of her face, but he could see the unmistakable glow of her eye whites, and the tint of gold thread in the ten-pointed star.

"Your Highness. At last, we meet in person."

She was calm, like an undisturbed copse of trees, or a graveyard. Her voice betrayed no fear that she had taken the crown prince hostage. Only a smug positivity, as if this was a visit to the supermarket. Roy wanted to spit at her stupid face through the screen, but even though some of his feeling had returned to his toes, he couldn't muster enough energy to move his tongue.

She nodded her head. "I trust my associate was gentle with you?" She smiled, almost passively, but with the edges snagged. "I'm sure she did. Do you know who I am? Blink twice if yes."

Even if he did know, Roy refused to blink. Maybe she would talk.

She chuckled. "Well, given you have already locked up one of my former associates..."

An electricity zipped through Roy's mind at the words.

Jordan Iscariot's associate. So... that had to mean...

 _Newton's Wife._

He was staring at the woman who'd initiated the Midknight sabotage. Who'd sent the gunman to the palace in the day of the fashion show. Who'd orchestrated both near-death experiences to his family, friends and Selected. He managed a shaky gasp as the realisation soaked through his body.

He was staring at the face of someone who wanted him dead.

Newton's Wife cocked another smile. "So, you do know who I am. That makes my job easier." She raised her head, the hood fluttering over her eyes. "Yes, my code name is Newton's Wife." She tipped her head in mock greeting. "Shall we get down to business?"

Roy's heart frenzied in his ribcage as if trying to break free. Part of him wished to stall, in the small chance that someone – _anyone_ – would chance upon his prison. The other part of him just wanted Satan the maid to shoot him already. The anticipation was eating him with a slow, painful sink of jaws, so if she was going to do it, she might as well get it over and done with.

Satan the maid adjusted the phone in her gloved hand, and Roy could see the crinkles of Newton's Wife's lips and cheeks as she smiled. "Relax, Your Highness. If I wanted to take your life, I would have done so already." She paused. "That is the will of Walter, not my own."

Roy's heart shuddered with relief, and it dripped lost senses into his limbs. Today, he would survive. Walter Wolanski wanted his head, sure, but for now, he would live another day.

But then... why?

Newton's Wife continued. "We merely have a task for you. Quite simple." That smile again, near placid. "We require that you retrieve something. A set of documents."

A set of documents...?

If Newton's Wife had authorised the gunman's attack on the palace...

Roy had enough verve to raise his eyebrows.

The province financial statements.

He found sense returning to his skin, the weight of his Dracula costume rubbing against him. In a garbled murmur, he said, "Those again...?"

Newton's Wife tilted her head. "Correct. Smart boy." She paused. "We require your province financial statements for our… specific needs."

The sweat-stained fabric of Roy's socks clung to his toes, running up the rest of his leg slowly, but surely. "What _needs_?" he slurred.

Her smile froze. "If you think I would be foolish enough to indulge you, I'm afraid you're mistaken." She clasped her hands together, gloved in dark silk to match her hood. "This is how it shall work. You will escort my associate here to King Merrick's office, dismiss all guards, and retrieve the files. Then, you shall hand the documents to my associate, and, after which, you will find an inexplicable need to head to the nearest bathroom."

Roy had to laugh. "You're out of your damn mind—"

"From which, you may subsequently return to your…" her cheeks pinched, " _Bonfire Ball_ , and enjoy the rest of the evening. Why, even report our break in. Whichever suits you."

Welts of anger pressed against Roy's skin. "If you think I'm going to let Satan the maid here waltz away, _you_ are foolish." He felt his arms twitch, the hot flush filtering through his cloak and suit. "The guards will be all over her like flyswatters to a mosquito. There's no way she'll escape."

Newton's Wife wiped her gloved hands in mock boredom. "My associate, or, ahem, _Satan the maid_ , knows nothing about me, my whereabouts, or our further plans. She is useless to you. Though it should be known," she paused, darkening, "that there will also be severe punishment if you fail this task."

Roy dreaded to ask. "Punishment?"

"Yes." She smiled. "Such a lovely sister you have. It would be a shame to ruin her adorable face."

Hot and cold clashed furiously within Roy, and ignoring the searing lethargy skiving through his muscles, he lunged forwards and butted the phone with his head. Satan the maid squealed, and the phone sailed across the table, accompanied by a surprised _oh_ sound from Newton's Wife.

He mustered his voice. " _Don't you_ _dare_ _touch_ _my sister!_ " he said, not able to yell, but still fuelling his voice with unrestrained fury.

In a flash, Satan slapped Roy across the face. The impact burned as much as the fire raging within him. But he was powerless to stop her clamping a gloved hand over Roy's mouth. Still, he struggled, but her free hand whipped under the bustles of her skirt again – this time, pulling out a syringe, filled with a syrupy, bark-brown substance.

"Quiet, or I'll stab you with this."

He stared, wide-eyed – the syringe nearly luminescent. He didn't want to know what sort of concoction was in that thing, and he certainly didn't want to risk his life for it. Another form of poison? Perhaps a fatal one? He stopped moving, stilled to a nighttime forest. Satan the maid removed her hand, and her vice grip on his lips released. Cool air mingled with his hot breath.

Satan the maid quickly retrieved the tossed phone and faced Roy with its screen again. Newton's Wife had leant back in her chair, tilting her head side to side, tittering through her ruby red lips.

"Your love for your sister is sweet, really."

" _Bastard_."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Her insufferable, calm smile. "Now. Do you accept?"

Do it, or _die_.

Roy saw no other choice, no other light to save him. He had to go through with this.

He had to hand over the province financial statements.

They could do so much damage with the data – comb through where each dollar was going, decide which sector was receiving too much or too little. They could blackmail the palace, if anything appeared suspicious, even the slightest blip, but Roy didn't want to risk Gail's chances. If they threatened to so much as _breath_ on Gail, Roy knew he would obey.

They would not touch his sister.

The plan still seemed pocked with holes, and his brain worked furiously to find a loophole, something to exploit. "Fine," he said. "I can't walk right now because of this wretched poison, I'll have you know."

"You can butt phones just fine. I think you can manage."

He growled, something deep and predatory from his throat, uncaring how lupine he sounded.

Satan the maid retracted the phone, typing onto the interface.

"We're partners now, Prince Roy," called Newton's Wife. "I have no doubt that we'll be in touch again."

The brightness dissolved against Satan's mask.

She sheathed the phone under her dress once more, before draping Roy's arm around her again. He wondered if he could take her out with his jujitsu, thinking how easy it would be to trip her through her legs or defenestrate her, but even after the effects of the poison lessened, he didn't like his chances taking Satan on.

His legs didn't fail him completely though, unlike the walk to the empty conference room, as they meandered through the wings to Merrick's office. Guards, again, eased as Roy and the maid gave them understanding nods – each sending a twist of pain through Roy's spine. Help was right there, and he couldn't grasp it.

He could nearly feel that cold syringe under the layers of Satan the maid's skirts.

Merrick's office was guarded, as expected. Roy managed to wave them away with simple hand gestures. Confusion rankled them, and the nearest guard approached.

"Your Highness, this is highly irregular—"

"His Majesty Merrick," Satan the maid cut through, in her velvety sweet voice, "has His Highness's bottle of pills in that office. Perfect for his… _condition_." She danced over the word as if it was painfully awkward to mention. "He requests privacy."

"Just go," Roy choked out, hardly believing his own words.

They left with concerned glances. Hopefully that meant _something_.

 _As long as Gail isn't hurt_ , he repeated to himself.

Roy punched in the code, failing to hide it from Satan the maid, and pushed into the door.

Merrick's office looked the same as it had the last time he visited. The sun had truly set, leaving them in charcoal darkness that filtered in through the cracks in the curtain. He could see flickers of orange from outside, too, and he knew that they started the eponymous bonfire for the Bonfire Ball. He could nearly breathe the scent of those roasted marshmallows.

Satan the maid switched on the light and shut the door behind them, and Roy stumbled out of her grasp – his gelatine legs buckling underneath him. He grabbed a shelf of books and Gail's drawings, and yanked himself along to a cabinet, opening the fourth drawer. Files upon files, alphabetically ordered, swam over him, and he plucked the correct document from _p_.

Province financial statements.

Satan the maid seized it from him, opening the file, and scanning and flicking the pages. "You know the instructions?"

"Yes," he said shakily – then, a laugh. "Though you can bet you sick butt that I am _not_ 'running to the bathroom'—"

A quiet knock rapped against the door. Instantly, Satan the maid whipped around to face it.

"Er, Roy? Are you all right?" It was Luna Bellini-Torres – he could recognise her unimpressed voice anywhere, but even _she_ sounded wary. "You looked sick, but I noticed that you were heading _away_ from the infirmary."

Satan the maid whipped around again, burning an intense gaze into Roy.

"Get rid of her," she snapped. "Or Gail _gets it_."

Panic surged through Roy. He fumbled his words.

"I-I'm making out! Go away!"

Satan the maid slapped her hands on her mask, and there was a pause.

"In your _dad's office?_ " said Luna. Another short pause, then a twinge of anger. "Besides, you left with a _maid_ , and _all_ of the Selected are at the Bonfire Ball!"

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Roy didn't have time to correct his statement

In a whiplash, Satan the maid drew the syringe – the tip glinted – and stabbed Roy's neck.

He cried out, visceral and loud, the cold metal penetrating his skin, blistering with the heat of pain. He felt the nasty brown liquid enter his bloodstream, flowing through his veins like sewage water. Roy stumbled, wrenching the needle free, and crashed into Merrick's shelves.

Satan blew a mocking kiss.

Luna banged on the door. "Your Highness!"

Satan the maid rammed the door open. Luna collapsed backwards, landing on her bottom – her rainbow butterfly cloak snagging underneath her – and Satan the maid fled down the corridor.

In seconds, Luna scrambled to stand, rushing over to Roy. "What on _earth_ —?"

Adrenaline and panic married within Roy. "Forget me!" he yelled. "Get _her!_ "

Luna cast a desperate glance between Satan the maid's disappearing figure and Roy. "You look like you're going to throw up."

A roll of nausea boiled in Roy's stomach, but he pushed it down. He could feel the ooze of blood from his stab wound on his neck, and it cricked with pain. "She's taken important documents!" He used her arm to haul himself up. "We have to go after her! _Now!_ "

Luna looked indisposed to the idea, but she didn't argue as Roy threw his arm over her and limped from the office, peering around. Satan the maid hightailed down the corridor, spinning around the corner. Together, they stumbled after her – Roy felt like he was drunk right to the tissue in his brain.

"She went this way," Luna said, practically dragging him. "Someone stop that maid!"

But Roy had dismissed all of the guards, and the patrols were centralised around the Bonfire Ball. No one to help.

The syringe effects clasped his lungs, making his breath shallow and shaky, and an uncomfortable bloating balloon rise in Roy's stomach. "Get back here!"

They managed around the corridor, but Satan the maid had disappeared.

 _This isn't the end_ , his mind screeched through the incoherent babble and adrenaline. _Roy does not make mistakes_. He scrambled through his mind.

"The kitchens," he said. "She can blend in there."

Sets of stairs unfolded beneath them and he nearly tripped his way down to the next floors. In a shot, they found himself underground, in the servants' wings.

Then, in the corner of his eye, he saw the flicker of hurried maid's skirts.

"This way!" he said, yanking Luna.

They skittered over and broke into servant quarters. Butlers, maids, and other servers boasted a collective frenetic energy as they whizzed between one another, carrying trays, towels, glasses, laundry, and firewood, into the multiple kitchens, laundrettes, and storage rooms for the ball upstairs. Steam and smoke caressed the low ceiling, and the rich smells of chocolate, meats and fruits turned Roy's stomach a revolution.

"Can you see her?" said Luna.

Clutching his roiling chest, Roy scoured the crowd. Satan the maid turned at that precise moment – her hand raised to remove the mask, but before he could identify a face, she sank into the bustle of a crowd of maids.

"Guards! Anyone!" he yelled as loudly as he could muster, splitting from Luna. He pointed towards the maids. "A Southern Rebel!" His stomach heaved. "She has a mask! She—"

But before Roy could finished the sentence, he stumbled, collapsed to his front, and vomited all over the floor.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

After seconds, Luna, an entourage of guards, butlers and maids leapt to his aid, but Roy ended up vomiting another three more times – until there was nothing left in him. He was soon whisked away to the infirmary for real, this time, but he could read their faces through the tears of his blurred view: each guard flickering with frowns of doubt, each maid pinching her lips in disgust, each butler snickering with sick amusement.

They thought he was drunk. Thought Satan the maid was an illusion of the heavy alcohol. Only Luna seemed to sympathise, regarding Roy from a distance with confused pity.

Too afraid something else might pour out of his mouth, Roy allowed himself to be treated in near silence. His stab wound was cleaned and plastered quickly, but each second felt like an hour. Even answering simple questions from the resident doctor, Strong, like 'Do you know where you are?' or 'What have you consumed this evening?', drained him. But Newton's Wife's threats – against him, his sister, his country – invaded his thoughts like an unending storm.

The harsh lights of the infirmary blinkered, and it kept his eyes open and awake, even though the rest of his body wanted to shut down to sleep. The white duvet melted underneath him, enticing him further into slumber. At least, he'd disposed of his, now gross, Dracula cloak, and hung his suit jacket, waistcoat and cravat over the visitor's chair by his raised bed. Sweat laced his neck, down his chest and unbuttoned collar. A white curtain surrounded his ward, giving him privacy from the busy wing around him.

It wasn't long after he'd had a blood sample taken, swallowed what seemed like fifty pills and drank water that Luna was allowed back into the ward, closely followed by Ji-Yu and Merrick. Ji-Yu's ghost make-up had crusted on her brow, now matted with sweat, and Merrick had shed the top half of his hotdog costume to reveal a simple T-shirt underneath. Luna's cloak had ripped when she fell, leaving it falling off her shoulders awkwardly.

Ji-Yu gasped at the sight of Roy. "Oh, my _god_ , Jun—" she whispered. "What the hell happened to you?"

He lolled his head back onto the bed. " _Hell_ happened." He was nearly sure he'd smacked his trousers with his own vomit somewhere, too, as the smell seemed to cling to him. "I'm _not_ drunk," he hissed, as if sensing the next question. "A Southern Rebel. She poisoned me – made me _look_ drunk."

Luna said, "It's true. She knocked me out of the way and ran off with some documents in her hand."

Thankful for someone on his side, and uncaring about Luna's position, Roy began to explain the scenario in hushed whispers. And when he finished the tale, both Ji-Yu and Merrick had raised their eyebrows and paled to ghosts, whereas Luna had exposed the most emotion he'd seen her with to date – shock and fear, with her hands clasped tightly together, and her shoulders raising above the point where Roy was stabbed with the syringe.

"A Southern Rebel…" Ji-Yu muttered. "How…? _How_?"

"Gail," Roy spoke, cutting off her thoughts. "Is she okay?"

Merrick nodded, but his face was flushed with anger, and he clutched Roy's leg with more than the usual caring grip. "She's fine. Making s'mores with the rest of the guests outside." He bore his teeth, but looked at no one. "Damn rebels! They managed to get _into_ the palace to— to _attack_ you for some stupid numbers! Utterly disgraceful! And if they can then leave without so much as a wink from the guards—" He paused, removing his hand and stepping away. "Do you think the threat is gone for now?"

"Yes," said Roy. "She only wanted the documents."

Merrick's sigh was grated. "Then I'm doubling security for the rest of the night." He paused. "And the Bonfire Ball should be cancelled."

Ji-Yu tore her gaze away to face Merrick. "No. We mustn't panic our guests, especially our English guests, after we agreed to host Alexander and Barnabas for a month."

Roy still hadn't the chance to digest that properly. And he didn't want to.

Ji-Yu continued. "What sort of message will that send?"

Merrick threw up his arms. "That we take a breach of our walls seriously!"

"That we bow to the needs of rebels. We must show _strength_."

Roy jumped in, trying to still his shaking bones. "The Ball… I agree with Mother. It should go on."

Merrick narrowed his eyes between the two of them, and crossed his arms to hide his clenching fists. "Why do you both so _insist_ on showing this… this _aloofness_ in the face of the rebels? It isn't fearless, it's _reckless_."

Luna stiffened, and Roy could only gather that she'd become acutely aware of Merrick's tougher side, contrast to the funny old man he was most of the time.

Ji-Yu shot her own glare at Merrick. "If we are seen a weak, then we provide even _more_ fuel to support the rebels' movement. Do you want that?"

Merrick looked like he wanted to argue, with his lips parted slightly to reveal his jaw clamped. He must have relented, as he blew out a hot breath. "I'm going to the barracks. I want to know how and why this _maid_ got in."

He left before any of them could stop him. Ji-Yu watched him even after he disappeared around the ward curtains, as if she could still sense his ghost, but a flicker of hurt tensed her. She blew out her own sigh.

"Lady Luna, thank you for your help. Please refrain from speaking about any of this to anyone, and go see Dr Nagi. She'll check you over for injuries. "

Luna had taken a face that suggested she wanted to stay, to make absolutely sure that Roy was fine, but she bowed her head and sketched a curtsy. "Of course, Your Majesty."

She shot Roy a worried look before slipping behind the curtain. Roy knew he'd have to reassure her later. The only Selected girl to know the true story, for now.

He cringed inwardly, realising that his own _Selected_ girls were probably going to think him that stupid drunkard again.

Roy lolled his head back into the pillow. "You and Dad not going to argue again, are you? I'm not in the mood for being the harbinger of peace."

Ji-Yu tensed, glancing at the tiled floor. "No. Your father cares so much about everyone, and it's equally one of his greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. I don't dislike him for it." She clasped her hands together. "So they deliberately made it look like you were intoxicated as to not arouse suspicion?"

It appeared so. "Yeah."

"That's sly of them. Very sly. Do you know what you were drugged with?"

 _Drugged_. Even the word sent shivers down Roy's spine.

"No," said Roy, "but Dr Strong checked my vitals and made sure I wasn't going fatal. He's taken a blood sample, so we'll know what I was drugged with soon enough."

Ji-Yu cursed softly in Korean, a habit Roy had seen her bend to more than once. "How did they even get in?"

Roy bit his lip. "I have no idea. But they got in. They got passed all the security, plus the CCTV."

"Yes. I'm sure it wasn't the CCTV team turning a blind eye. If they have experts such as Jordan Iscariot on their side, no doubt they have more ways to hack into our security." She plonked herself onto the chair. "How are we going to spin this, with your father's family around, and the Selected still present?"

"We tell everyone I _wasn't_ drunk. That would be a nice start."

Ji-Yu fixated a glare on him. "You know we can't do that."

Roy widened his eyes. "What? Why not? I'm never going to get rid of this stupid reputation otherwise."

"It's not like it's out-of-the-blue, for you, you know," Ji-Yu said, something heavy pressing her voice. "Nonetheless, the rebels were onto something when they decided not to arouse suspicion. If we announce that you were _drugged_ , not _drunk_ , mass panic would occur. We lose our strength, like if we cancelled the Bonfire Ball or your Selection."

He opened his mouth to retort, but she cut across him. "Sometimes royalty must make sacrifices for their people." She paused, staring at him with sad eyes. "It's for the best, Jun."

He hated knowing that he'd never shed his _drunken prince_ status. Hated knowing that his own life and image took a backburner to the blood of his country. Hated knowing she was right.

For now, he would endure. Whatever it took, to help his country.

"Okay," he whispered. "You win."

Ji-Yu crumpled in the chair. "Good. We _will_ address this problem, quietly – and since they have the means to break in and poison you, we must address this problem _quickly_ and quietly." She paused, but placed her head in her hands. "Having said that… I'm glad you're all right, son."

At that moment, the curtains flung open – Rudy, with strands of his red hair untied and trickling down his chest, his butler's uniform dishevelled and his posture slumped, heaved a breath at the threshold.

" _Roy_ —" he noticed Ji-Yu in the corner, and immediately straightened. "Oh, my apologies for the intrusion, Your Majesty—"

Ji-Yu waved at him, but there was a caring smile tinting her lips. "You're fine, Rudy."

Roy felt a roll of relief joining the lingering nausea – not because the pills were working. Rudy, safe and sound, running back to see him. He hadn't been a target of the rebels, thankfully, like Gail, but he was probably next in line after family for blackmail material. If afterlife was real, Roy knew his soul would rest in tatters knowing he'd parted on such horrid terms with the closest person he had to a best friend.

Not knowing where to start Roy stared, wide-eyed, suddenly aware of how hot the room was. How fast his heart thundered.

Rudy attempted to tuck in his shirt and retie his hair all at once. He couldn't meet anyone's eye. "I-I heard stories from the other butlers. Some said—" he sucked in a breath. "Some said you'd been yelling about an attack, Your Highness. By a Southern Rebel."

It took seconds for Roy to realise that he'd tensed. He glanced at Ji-Yu for permission, and she nodded.

"I was drugged," said Roy.

" _Drugged_ —?" Rudy echoed, his eyes sparkling with sadness and horror at once, but he kept his composure cool. "I'm sorry that happened to you, for… lack of anything better to offer. That's… awful…"

Ji-Yu stood up. "Completely and utterly." She gave a sympathetic look to Roy. "I'll leave you to it. I need to speak with Captain Delacroix."

She breezed from the ward, leaving Roy and Rudy alone.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Rudy loitered by the curtain of Roy's ward, staring at the plaster ceiling of random swirl patterns, at the matte tiles of the floor, the empty chair that still oozed Ji-Yu's warmth, or the dials of the hospital machines – anywhere but at Roy. He tucked his hands behind his back.

They weren't usually this awkward, and it reopened the gash inside Roy. He swallowed and jerked his head to the chair. "Sit down."

Rudy's movements were stiff; it was like watching an unoiled robot finding a spot on the shelf. He sat down on the edge of the chair and still, he wouldn't meet Roy's eye. Now, there was a pale flush washing his cheeks with shame and embarrassment, worry and relief, all at once.

"I know this is a foolish question," Rudy began, "but… are you all right, Your Highness?"

"Yeah." He had no better answer to give, either.

Rudy nodded. "That's… good to hear."

 _He's a brother to me_ , was what Rudy had said about Roy. Roy couldn't see any of that now. He was merely a valet doing his job. Even if he'd run as fast as he could at the sound of Roy's injuries.

The invisible strings between them were stretched thin and tight.

And Roy couldn't stand it.

"I-I'm sorry," he blurted.

Rudy stilled. "It's not your fault it happened to you."

"Not the attack. I know that's not my fault," Roy said, gaining courage. "I meant about… earlier, when I was… eavesdropping…"

When he'd discovered Rudy and Durante together.

Rudy's head flew up, his brown eyes widening. Slowly, he softened and shook his head, strands of his red hair loosening again.

"No, don't be. Officer Durante and I were talking in a corridor. I should have expected someone to overhear."

"But I still stayed when I could have left. Minded my own business." He pressed his lips together. "I was just being nosy, and it wasn't fair to you."

Rudy clenched his hands together, and then blew out a long sigh. "… I'm sorry too, then." He managed an awkward laugh. "I was just… emotionally on edge, and… I wasn't really sure what to make of you knowing. So I lashed out on you. And that's not fair to you _._ "

Dreading the heavy tension, Roy pouted. "No, it's _my_ fault."

Rudy's eyes flashed with amusement, catching on like kindle. "It's definitely _my_ fault."

" _Mine!_ " said Roy, crossing his arms with pride. "And I'm the prince, so my opinion eats yours for breakfast."

Rudy sat back and chuckled, and suddenly Roy felt that tension shatter, the air breathing out like a choir sighs. He could feel himself sink into the mattress, finally free of a burden that had haunted him for so many hours.

Rudy, too, managed a smile. "All right, you win, Your Highness."

"Does this mean," Roy whispered, "we're cool now?"

Rudy seemed to contemplate this, before his smile overcame him – a bigger, more emotive gesture than Roy could have ever asked for.

"Of course. We are," he frowned, "'cool'…?"

Roy snorted. "You make that sound weird."

"The moment it left your mouth it was weird."

"Would you prefer, ahem," Roy smirked as wide as his lips would allow him, " _brothers_?"

Rudy groaned, burying his head in his hands, shining red. "You really heard all of it, didn't you?"

Even though it pained his fragile stomach, Roy managed to sit up and cup his chin in his hands. "I didn't know you had work parties." He paused. "I didn't know you _drink_."

Rudy sat up, placing his hands on his lap. "Yes. Occasionally." An evil grin. "Though certainly not nearly as much as you do."

"I've never drunk-confessed my undying love to my crush."

"No. You just go straight into making out."

Roy didn't relent. "But nor have I ever said anything about having to _compete_ with a _platoon of guards_."

Rudy deadpanned, glaring at Roy. Heat exuded from him like a furnace.

"… Touché."

Rudy saying _touché_. Roy never thought he'd hear those words.

"So, er…" Roy began again. "Are we going to talk about that?"

Rudy straightened, but again, ripped his gaze away to the bed. "You mean Joseph and me?"

"Yeah," Roy said. He placed a finger on his chin. "Joseph, huh? I always thought his first name was _Officer_."

"I'd… rather not talk about it," Rudy said, ignoring Roy's comment. "It's still… overwhelming. Again, I'm rather… on edge, about the whole issue." He paused. "But please don't mistake my silence on the matter as not trusting you. I appreciate your support, Roy. I really do."

Roy felt a fuzzy feeling run up his spine, and he gushed. "Aw, pffft. You're making me blush, bro."

In that second, Rudy scoffed, sat back, and crossed his arms. "You're never going to drop this _bro_ thing, are you?"

"Nope." Roy frowned. "Are you sure you don't want sagely advice about love life? I _am_ in the middle of a Selection, after all."

Rudy smiled. "I'm sure." Smirk. "You should sort out your own wayward love life first before helping me with mine."

Roy stuck out his tongue. "I can multitask!"

"You can't even pat your head and rub your stomach."

"… Touché."

Definitely back to normal.

"Well, if I am officially your, ahem, _bro_ ," Rudy picked at the word like it was a new dish, "then I should let you know that _bros_ don't spread the truth of horrific first names to other people."

"Rudolf isn't that bad."

"I have the same name as a _reindeer_ in a _children's Christmas rhyme_."

He had a fair point. Still, Roy snorted. "Come back to me when you're named _Jun Fitzroy_."

They both ended up guffawing ridiculously. Like the entire poisoning episode hadn't happened.

But eventually, Roy petered out, and sank back into his bed, the pillow rubbing against him. Now he had to return to the real world, where people did want to steal documents and murder his family.

How he wished he was a boy again, and could ignore everything with blissful obliviousness.

Rudy clasped his hands together. "So you have no idea who this Southern Rebel is?"

Roy shook his head. "No. She wore a mask that looked like Satan. You didn't see her mulling about in the kitchens or laundry rooms, did you?"

"I'm afraid not."

Roy had suspected as much. She mustn't have entered the palace through the servants' entrance, then, or at least someone would have noticed and reported her as suspicious. Maybe she'd taken the mask off, to blend in.

Quickly, Roy filled Rudy in on the real story, hoping to shove away the image that Roy had once again embraced the life of a drunkard. Satan the maid's desperate attempts to make Roy drink her glass of poisoned wine, her faux voice, Jordan Iscariot's contact. Walter Wolanski's _will_ tosee Roy dead.

By the end of it, he bit his lip. "But now I know more about Newton's Wife, whoever she is. I'd say middle-aged, white, thin lips… quite a calming voice. Not like Walter Wolanski at all. And they've met."

"This is most definitely Board-worthy material, don't you think?"

The Board. Roy had nearly forgotten about it. As helpful as it was to have a visual for his thoughts, they hadn't used it very much to ponder – at least, certainly not together. Maybe that was what they needed.

"Rudy," Roy said with determination. "Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to sit in front of the Board, update it with everything that's gone on so far, and then deliberate until our brains hurt."

Rudy blew out a breath. "An excellent idea, Your Highness." He sat back. "It's high time we started thinking more deeply on the matter, now that our pool of candidates had thinned considerably."

Rudy was right. Though nineteen Selected girls, two of which who had been eliminated that day, was a smaller number than thirty-five, it was still big enough for a spy to hide in. And she was still there, disguised as a girl who wanted his heart.

Wanted his heart stabbed through with a dagger.

Roy shuddered involuntarily, wishing he could steel himself with might and muster. He was afraid, he was terrified, but no one else in this palace but him could do this task forced upon him, which was a more frightening prospect than that the rebels could sneak their way into the palace.

They'd already snuck in once before, after all.

For now, Roy would rest and recover and let his mind ease.

Because this would be the last opportunity he'd get.

* * *

 **A/N:** Time to get down to business, amirite?! Luckily Roy and co. survived this encounter... but who can say about the next one...?

So funny story: I knew there was a word that could describe's Rudy's position better than _butler_ , but I totally forgot what it was... until I came across _valet_ a few days ago and had an epiphany, where the clouds parted, my crops were watered, and my skin became clear. Only took me six months to remember what the word was... XD

I'd also like to apologise if this chapter has any errors, especially in the beginning parts. I wrote some of this on a Blackberry Playbook on my flight to Italy, and it's not the most ergonomic hardware to type with.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Who's your favourite Selected girl(s) so far? Who do you think will be eliminated next...? Reviews, favourites and follows appreciated, always. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "Did the rebels break in and steal my mighty collection of boxer shorts?"


	25. Board Meetings

Roy was discharged from the hospital once his blood test results returned. The first poison, _succinylcholine_ , had caused his muscle and limb paralysis, but luckily not enough to cause his diaphragm to fail. The second, a substance called _syrup of ipecac_ , had induced the vomiting episode after Satan the maid had stabbed Roy in the neck with her syringe. Neither, however, proved fatal in the dosage Roy had taken.

That dose of death already had a claimant. Walter Wolanski.

Before eight in the morning, Roy was already awake and washed. Sleep had come easily to him that night, but waking up felt like returning to a nightmarish realm of reality. He could still feel a ghost of his churning stomach from yesterday – and he could only hope nothing would come back to haunt him. His clothes couldn't survive another episode of puking everywhere.

Treading between his rooms, he prepared two fold-out chairs on the golden tiled floor of the bathroom, facing the Board. Dr Strong had recommended a day of bedrest, but Roy could hardly keep still. There was a kindling in his soul, sparked from his confrontation yesterday, and he wanted to nurture it, utilise its power and energy. Use his pent-up anger to his advantage.

He had every intention of solving some mysteries today, even if he didn't want to. Or, at least, adding more information to the Board.

Roy reached for the ribbon of fabric beside his bedside table that would ring for Rudy, but a soft knock halted him in his tracks. Wondering who would want to talk to him so early, he quickly wrapped himself in a dressing gown to hide his naked upper-half and cracked the door open.

Officer Durante's hands were clenched so tightly by his side his knuckles blanched, and his green eyes flashed with worry. His uniform was pressed and wrinkleless, a light scent of fresh cotton wafting from him. His jaw was trimmed, his stance was stiff, and his shoulders rose nearly to chin-level.

"Your Highness," he grounded out. "I hope I haven't disturbed you so early in the morning."

Of course, Roy realised. The last time they'd spoken was when he'd caught Durante extravagantly flirting with Rudy.

 _Flirting_ and _Durante_ seemed like they would be antonyms of one another in a dictionary. The man whispering sweet nothings to Rudy was not the man standing in front of Roy now. He had been replaced with a soldier of war, hardened by service to the crown, and slave to his duty.

Roy couldn't help letting an outrageous smirk overcome him. "I'm afraid _lover boy_ isn't here yet. Shall I ring for him?" He placed the back of his hand on his forehead and draped himself against the doorframe. "Or are you still in the dregs of your courtship?"

Durante stiffened, but there was no hiding the sweeping flush over his face. He fixated his stark eyes on the door beside Roy's head. A skein of sweat dragged down his forehead. "I… haven't come for him, sir. I… have come for you. To _thank_ you."

Roy paused, his smirk dropping. _Thank him_? He straightened. "For what?"

Durante levelled a breath. "It has been an honour and a privilege to work in your service."

Roy opened the door wider. "That sounds like a resignation speech."

"It… _is_ a resignation speech."

 _Wait, what?_ Roy widened his eyes. "Resign? Why?!" He shook his head, holding up a hand to silence Durante. "This is because of yesterday, isn't it? Because I know about your…" he grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief, " _secret paramour_."

Durante's bottom lip upturned, but apart from that, his face remained like stone. "… Yes." He cleared his throat. "I… realise I may have put both you and your valet in an awkward position. I have unfairly ruined your relationship, and gone against the work ethic of the palace. For that, I offer my sincerest apologies, and only ask for your forgiveness as I—"

"You're not leaving."

Durant's mouth paused mid-sentence, hanging on his last word. "I… what?"

Roy gestured into his bedroom. Durante pursed his lips before following inside. Roy shut the door, then twirled to him, his dressing gown dragging across the carpet.

"One: I have zero problems with whatever you and Rudy do in your spare time."

The same blush ferociously gripped Durante's cheeks, dark against his bronze skin.

"Two: you know about the… the _thing_ ," Roy said, rolling his hands. He lowered his voice. " _The spy_."

Durante eased his hands together, intertwining his meaty fingers, and twitched them like an erratic beat. "Yes, sir," he said. "My loyalty is still to the crown, and to your parents. I shall not breathe a word—"

"But if you leave, Durante, then I have to break in another guard to the _secret_. And none of the other guards are on par with your ninja guard skills."

Durante looked like he was about to argue, but instead clamped his mouth shut.

Roy continued. "So, therefore, I refuse your resignation, and demand that you sit your butt down and start relearning the hallways, because you're staying right here. I'll… even give you a raise."

He realised this was a strange form of blackmail.

Durante, as usual, wasn't ecstatic about earning more money. He frowned. "Thank you, Your Highness, but… I really don't deserve it."

"Why not? You did your job just fine at the Midknight dinner."

But Durante's face twisted – his eyes narrowed, and his lips clasped together. He spoke sharply, like a grazing knife edge. "I also allowed you to be poisoned because I was too busy flirting with Rudy."

Roy opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. Well, he was right. Sort of.

He regained confidence. "You weren't meant to look out for me that day. Only to protect my door. Did the rebels break in and steal my mighty collection of boxer shorts? I don't believe they did."

Then it hit Roy – why Durante had felt so awkward every time Roy gave him a raise. Each time he did, he solidified Durante's position as his personal guard, his bodyguard, and therefore set in stone how often he would see Roy… _and_ Rudy.

Durante's shoulders dropped, and a gloss cast over his eyes. "I just… I just feel terrible about everything that happened yesterday."

Roy had nothing to say about the Durante's situation with Rudy, but… Durante surely couldn't take the blame for Roy's poisoning. He had no idea – none of them did – about what was about to happen.

"I can't speak for the, ahem, _winner of your heart_ , but me being poisoned was not your fault. It's no one's." He grinned. "I'm fine. Don't blame yourself."

Durante didn't look like he could take that as an answer, but nodded warily. He sucked in a breath, that expanded his ginormous chest like a rising beast from slumber, and straightened – the inner Durante lost to the past, and the warrior Durante returning for work.

"If Your Highness wants me to stay, then I shall stay."

Roy nodded. "Good." He grinned again, wiggling his eyebrows. "Rudy would kill me if I fired you, as well."

Durante's eyes widened a fraction. "He would?"

"Yeah. He would. But only in his head. In real life, he'd just snark me to death."

At this, Durante managed a small smile. "Same old Rudy."

"Same old Rudy," Roy repeated. This was the oddest bonding session he'd ever had. "Love to stay and chat, but I actually have a Board meeting with him soon."

Durante bowed his head. "Of course. I shall be outside."

He left without another word.

Roy quickly changed into a loose T-shirt and a pair of jeans (luxuries he was scorned at for wearing outside the privacy of his own room). Durante, however, was in on the spy secret now, and three sets of eyes was better than two. Perhaps Durante had seen or heard something suspicious, or could provide a new perspective on the Selected girls?

Roy tugged the ribbon to summon Rudy, then popped his head out of his room and said to Durante, "Want to feel like a CSI for an hour or two?"

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Rudy, as Roy predicted, was not a happy bunny when he saw Officer Durante standing awkwardly in Roy's bathroom.

With his hair neat and tidy, and his butler's uniform fresh and clean, Rudy grimaced at the sight of his not-so-secret paramour hovering awkwardly by the Board, and fiddling with the multi-coloured pins. He shot Roy a look of near-loathing.

"I thought I said I didn't want you involved, _Your Highness_ ," he grated out.

Roy pushed up his nose and clashed his glare with Rudy's. "This has nothing to do with your lover's tiff, Rudy. Officer Durante knows about the spy, so I figured we should use all the heads we have on the matter to talk about the Board."

Rudy glanced at Durante, then back to Roy. "Very well," he said reluctantly. Then, with a warning hiss, he added, "But we are not broaching _that_ subject."

Durante looked mildly hurt by the statement, but stayed quiet.

Rudy sat down on the fold-out chair, and Durante took the seat next to them. The tension was palpable enough to swim in. Neither men turned their head even the slightest direction towards each other, like there was a brick wall erected between them. Rudy stared so hard at the Board, Roy thought the pictures might fall off, whereas Durante was stiff enough to withstand the ceiling dropping on his head.

Clearing his throat to shoo the awkwardness away, Roy made a dramatic show gesturing to the Board.

"So, gentlemen and gentlebros, welcome to the first Board meeting."

"I _cannot_ contain my _excitement_ ," Rudy said, with zero excitement.

Roy ignored him. "I, Prince Roy, first of my name, have summoned you both to the humble abode of my bathroom to discuss our current findings so far." He swirled on his heel, the floor squeaking, to look at the Board. The annotated photographs and tufts of red yarn bound tightly to bright pins filled Roy with a hope he couldn't dispel – it wasn't much progress, but it was better than nothing. "What shall we address first?"

Rudy spoke, "How many of the Selected ladies remain?"

Now that Natasha and Vanessa had left for good, Roy made a mental count. "Seventeen." That seemed like a big jump from thirty-five. It was pretty much halfway. He quickly stuck another two felt _X_ s onto the eliminated mugshots.

"And what clues to do we have?" Rudy asked.

Roy wasn't sure Durante had ever seen the Board, so even though Roy and Rudy were all caught up, he figured a summary of the events and clues would be helpful. He cleared his throat, parched. "The first is Levinia: she said something about showing me her 'prowess' if I gave her something back in exchange."

Durante actually raised his hand. Stiffly, but still raised, and waiting to be answered on. Roy nodded his head towards him.

"Prowess?" he echoed. "What does Lady Levinia mean by that?"

"Beats me," said Roy.

"Do you have context, Your Highness?"

Roy winced – he had context, all right. Rudy snorted and clasped his hand to his mouth, and Roy felt his cheeks flush. "Well, she was making out with me."

"… Oh," said Durante, too gobsmacked to say much else.

Rudy still snickered as he said, "What could she have meant by _prowess_?" he smirked. "The aforementioned _making out_ skills, perhaps? She does seem to _buttonhole_ you quite often."

Roy glared at him. "Twice."

"Twice more than the others."

Durante cracked a smile then, staring hard at the floor. If he'd made a sound, a giggle or laugh, Rudy would probably have ceased his amusement immediately. Dare he find an on-off boyfriend funny.

Roy flexed his shoulders and shrugged. "Not my fault she wants me bad."

"Well, if she _is_ the spy, and she _is_ trying to solicit information from you, she doesn't, ahem, _want you bad_."

Roy glanced at her picture. There was a sharp beauty about her, as if her very eyelashes and cheekbones were bold enough to draw blood. Crossing his arms, Roy sighed.

"I think I'd have to just ask her about it. If she really wanted information, we'd have spent less time making out and more time just talking."

He noted this down on a scrap piece of paper.

"The next was Yuriko Sato," he continued, "but she's gone now." A pang of guilt tickled his heart, but he forced himself to push it away. He, instead, indicated to the mugshot of Camilla Daugherty, smiling demurely, and the tacked photo of a broken stage next to her. "After that was Camilla Daugherty and her possible fashion show stage sabotage. She pointed out a flaw in the catwalk construction."

Rudy sat back and intertwined his hands. "Do you really think she would have access to the stage before it was complete?"

"I mean, I was poisoned yesterday. Anything's possible."

"True," said Rudy. "Construction finished… when?"

"They finished the stage two days before the show. I remember Persephone rambling on about it to Mother. The seating area was completed the morning of the day before the show, so the catwalk must have been done the day before that."

"So that left the evening of the Wednesday and Thursday before the show," Rudy said. He stroked his chin. "Unless the construction crew were involved in the sabotage, then that would give Lady Camilla any time before the rest of the production staff were allowed entrance into the Great Ballroom." He frowned. "I'm not entirely sure why you blame her, really. She _pointed_ _out_ the flaw."

Durante tensed. "This could be an example of a citizen fulfilling her duty to protect the crown."

Rudy side-glanced at him with narrowed eyes. Was that an attempt to appeal to Rudy? Roy had no idea.

He tilted his head back and forth. "It was either an act of heroism I shall forever be indebted to her for, or a wily way to gain my favour." He jerked his head to Camilla's picture. "She is an architect, after all. She knows how to bust that stage nicely enough. Maybe it was a ploy to draw suspicion away from her?"

"Perhaps," Rudy said, "it would be wise to find an alibi for her, for the Wednesday and Thursday night. Her maids, for example. Or her guards."

Rudy cleared his throat then, staring hard at Roy, and then flicking his gaze towards Durante. The silence that stuffed itself into every nook and cranny screamed with tension.

Roy rolled his eyes. "Durante, would you mind determining who was on rotation that day and asking her guards about it?"

Durante pursed his lips, but bowed his head. "I can and shall, Your Highness."

"Excellent." If anything, this meant that Camilla could claim back her innocence. "Right. Next, and last of the girls: Skylar Davenport. She… just gave me weird vibes."

" _Weird vibes_?" Rudy repeated. "That's not solid reasoning for suspecting she is the spy."

Roy twisted his lips. "Of course it is. Spies would be weird, right?"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "How was she 'weird'?"

"This was the morning Yuriko was taken into custody for potentially being the spy, and Mother wouldn't let me see her. Skye joined me in the gardens, and she… I guess she just seemed like she was jealous of having to share me with the other girls."

There was a pregnant pause as the group soaked in the prospect, and Roy wondered – would a spy hint at being possessive? She wasn't even that bad, really, recalling that she held his arm and reassured him about his woes, making it known that she was there for him whenever he needed her. It was quite reassuring at the time. In fact, the only comment that made him hesitate was that she added the other Selected girls in her reassurances like an afterthought.

Rudy crossed his arms, frowning. "I'm not saying a spy can't be jealous, but… Selected girls _can_ be jealous, too."

Roy couldn't think of a single instance where he'd seen any of his Selected girls act out of jealousy. In fact, they seemed quite a placid bunch, thank goodness. If anything, it was _Roy_ growing jealous, that some of them seemed to stare more in Barney's direction than his own.

"I suppose you're right." He glanced at Skye's wide grin, gleaming from her mugshot, and added the words _weird vibes_. "But for good measure, I'm keeping that comment up there."

"Very well. If you think it best," Rudy said.

Maybe he should add more positive things to the Board. An act or comment that seemed _anti_ -spy. Roy thought back to Barney and his gentlemanly charms. A spy would want to capture Roy's full attention, shun all distractions – but Alisa Orlov kept looking elsewhere. Barney claimed to have a hold on other girls too, but he'd definitely zeroed on Alisa from the start.

He scribbled a note and stuck it next to Alisa's name. _Possibly being wooed by Barney_.

Rudy cocked an eyebrow. "That's treason."

Roy was confident Alisa wouldn't be so stupid anyway, but it still seemed like the epitome of non-spy behaviour. An innocent gesture that said a thousand words. Another thought popped into his head, recalling a conversation at the Bonfire Ball, and he added next to Levinia's name: _has no friends_. After the fiasco of letting slip about the province financial statements, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Yep," said Roy, "but I'm putting up everything that seems even mildly pro- or anti-spy material."

After a long pause, Rudy said, "So, that's all the information you've gathered? You haven't been in any other strange situations recently?"

Roy combed through his mind – and recalled yet another interesting snippet. Lilly and Eulalia during Roy and Lilly's date. They'd argued about something, but not owned up to what. Was it spy-related, or a genuine concern for a Selected girl?

He, again, scribbled this both on a note for the Board, and onto his scrap of paper, to remind himself. _Lilly and Eulalia argued at my date, but didn't tell me what about_. He would confront the issue later, even though it had happened some time ago. He hoped that it was just an innocent comment.

Rudy sat forwards. "Interesting."

"It was kind of awkward, actually." He smirked, suddenly finding a way to turn the situation. "Two people of the same gender arguing, and me just third wheeling. How funny."

Rudy shot Roy a sharp look – even Durante's eyebrows dipped in resignation.

"Sorry. I couldn't resist."

"Yes, _hilarious_ ," snapped Rudy. He couldn't meet anyone's eye now, staring hard at the floor and withdrawing his posture. "Is that all, then?"

"About the girls directly, yes." Roy pointed to the black-and-white photos he'd stolen from the Internet as placeholders. "We also have Walter Wo- _loser_ , Jordan Iscar- _riot_ , Newton's _Get-a-Life_ , and Literal Satan, plus the province financial statements they stole, and their symbol." He paused. "The gold-and-silver ten-pointed star."

His drawing was crude, but it still strummed his memories from the Midknight dinner like out-of-tune harp strings. The ten-pointed star, woven from threads of gold and silver, gleaming from the hood that shrouded Walter Wolanski's face. Their symbol of hope, of revolution. And to Roy, a symbol of destruction and hatred. A symbol he'd been taught to shun, that could trigger the deepest roots of his fear to rocket to his surface. He'd never hated something so bright and hopeful before, something that people looked up to on lost nights, but it was so tarnished by the Southern Rebels' legacy that it was hard not to see it cloaked in blood.

"The rebels used to wear the star symbol, Your Highness," Durante spoke. "Sometimes as jewellery, sometimes hung on their lapels, or branded as tattoos. Sometimes even through their own signatures."

He couldn't recall a moment where anyone wore the ten-pointed star, or wrote it in their signature. Unfortunately, he figured the spy wasn't that stupid.

Durante continued. "It is strange, considering in history, it was the Northern Rebels that used the North Star as their symbol."

Rudy cut across, and a sharpness layered his voice like acid. "They used the _pole star_ , which is traditionally drawn with _eight_ points. As opposed to ten."

Durante hardened. "Still," he said, with a tense tone. "It was a _Northern_ Rebel tradition, rather than _Southern_ Rebel."

"Maybe they simply wanted to pay homage to them," barked Rudy.

Durante didn't entertain him, still awkward. He didn't look like he wanted to argue, and the only indicator that he felt hurt was the slipping veil of his exterior – his slumping shoulders, his marring frown.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Roy appreciated their thoughts and opinions, but he wasn't sure how much he could take being the pacifier of two clashing men. He puffed out his chest. "All right, _Durudy_. Don't _make_ me get involved."

Rudy snapped up to look at him. "I _beg_ your pardon?" His nostrils flared. "Did you just…?"

Roy grinned. " _Durudy_."

"No."

"Well," said Roy. "It's either that, or _Rurante_."

Durante frowned. He clasped his hands together on his lap. "May I ask, Your Highness… what is _Durudy_?"

Rudy shot to stand, a flush ravenous on his cheeks. "Well, if that is all we have to discuss."

He tugged on his jacket, shot Roy a warning look, and stormed out before either Roy or Durante could stop him.

Roy felt his heart leaden. He thought yesterday's pep talk had reinvigorated their friendship, but apparently, the ginormous wedge that was Rudy's shattered relationship separated them still. He was desperate to help repair them and give Rudy a twinkle of happiness in his life.

On a normal day, Rudy would take Roy's jokes with a smirk and a snappy comeback, but if Rudy really didn't want Roy's ungracious nose thrown in, Roy would back out. Teasing was fun, but losing Rudy's friendship again was not. How much had his break from Durante really affected him?

Durante hardly moved, but his knuckles paled from clenching so hard. "… Was it something I said?"

Roy could have shaken his head, but Durante's apparent innocence towards ship names was probably what set Rudy off. Roy grinned. "Yes and no."

"Was it the _Durudy_ thing?" Durante asked. He fell into a whisper. "What is that?"

"It's your ship name."

"My… what?"

"Durante and Rudy. _Durudy_."

Durante blinked a few times, before frowning. "I'm… afraid I don't understand, sir."

Awkward. "… Never mind."

Instead of pressing the issue, Durante sighed, expelling his content face for the worry sinking his cheeks. "That was so uncomfortable."

"Yeah." Roy huffed. "I thought you two might get along for me."

Durante definitely let his guard persona drop down a cliff, as he barked a sarcastic laugh. "Even _I_ know you had a bonus intention with this meeting, sir." He straightened in the chair. "Trying to talk with him isn't working. I should… let him stew on it."

Roy smirked. "Give him some time. Maybe then, he'll fling himself back into your arms, weeping about how much he missed you." He breathed out a long breath, not waiting for Durante's reply. "Well, I suppose the Board meeting is over. Thanks for your help, and don't forget to ask for Camilla Daugherty's alibi. You're dismissed."

Durante stood, adjusted the hem of his red uniform, and strode towards the door. He opened it, only for a maid in a different uniform to grind to a halt from her hurried walk.

"Begging the intrusion, officer," she said, her words coloured with some sort of British accent. A maid of Aunt Philippa's, perhaps? "Is this Prince Roy's room?"

Durante opened the door wider, and Roy revealed himself. He wished now he'd changed into his suit, if this girl was going to snitch to the Twinces about his casual attire.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

She hastily curtsied. "Their Royal Highnesses, Princes Alexander and Barnabas, have requested your presence in the West Wing, Conference Room B."

The West Wing? With all the conference rooms and offices? Durante slipped into the corridor, staring warily at the maid, and Roy spoke, "Why, may I ask?"

"They have set up a boardroom meeting to discuss their extended stay."

Roy could have gagged. Of course, the menaces would want to discuss the 'terms' of their stay, as if it were some political arrangement. Of course, they'd drag Roy along to find out what horrific things they wanted done during their visit.

He waved out his hand, sighing. "All right, I'll be there as fast as I can."

He shut the door, allowing dread to fill him as he sorted through his wardrobe for an appropriate suit.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

With Officer Durante a few paces behind, Roy strode down the numerous hallways until he breached the West Wing. Displaced was his determination to organise the Board – though they had made some progress – and substituted with a subtle rage that burnt through him like lava flow.

Everyone in the palace thought he'd drank too much last night. That included the twins.

They were going to rip him to shreds.

The very thought that he would have to endure a royal mocking in front of the entire court was nearly powerful enough for his feet to turn on their heels and run back to his bedroom. He knew their approach would be relentless and harsh, and the rest of the court would probably agree with them. As if they had any less reason to take Roy seriously.

He threw himself around the corner into the corridors with multiple conference rooms. Delia Colestrist stood by the windows, overlooking the courtyard and fountain, and he halted – surprised to see her anywhere close to the meeting areas. He knew she hadn't come here to wish him well, after last night's 'drinking incident'. Should he turn and run?

He hesitated from doing anything. Why would a Selected girl come down here, this early in the morning?

Was she… scouting for information?

Delia's hair, unlike what he'd seen for the past few weeks, was loose – luscious black locks, highlighted with deep brown, flowing to waist length. Her Greek chiton style dress was short, this time – draping to her knees in ivory satin. She whirled to face him, and her hazel eyes seem to pique with interest.

"Oh, Your Highness," she dipped into a rushed curtsy. "How… how are you?" Her tone wavered with uncertainty.

Roy was saddened to hear her slight edge of disgust. He approached her by the window, clamping down the reluctance in his bones, but didn't stand too near, as if to convey his sorrow. "Yes, I'm well now. Thank you for your… concern. Did you enjoy the Ball last night?"

She frowned. "That's it? You're just… _well_?" She glanced around her before saying, "You went to the _infirmary_."

If only he wasn't bound by the idea that _ignorance was bliss_. If he could tell everyone he was poisoned, he wouldn't have to upkeep this charade of his party behaviour. For once, he wanted to shed his stupid reputation.

He managed a grin. "Yeah. I have a great doctor. Fixed me in no time." He adjusted his tie. "I don't even have a hangover."

Delia didn't look convinced, but she smiled. "Okay, well, that's good. It seemed… rather serious, last night."

She had no idea.

Delia let a smile cross her. "But the Bonfire Ball was wonderful! Everyone's costumes were so fabulous. Did you know Maeve won an award for Best Costume?" She laughed suddenly. "Hawaiian _punch_. Where does she think of these things? His Majesty came second, too."

He'd missed that all. To think, because of some stupid maid in a mask.

He intertwined his fingers and smiled politely. "They did have two fantastic costumes." His head cleared of the thoughts suddenly. "I have to ask. Why are you here?"

She blinked to register the question, and then glanced out to the autumnal gardens below. "Actually, my dad wanted me to enter—"

"No, no," Roy said, stifling a laugh. "I meant _here_. Why are you here, right now?"

"Oh!" She laughed, a cross between a giggle and a snort. "My bad. I like this time of day, you know. And this season." She turned to face the window again. "Especially the gardens. It gives me so much inspiration to paint. So I like to come here occasionally, by myself. It's like a little secret."

Roy leant against the windowsill beside her, painfully aware of the looming meeting, and Durante a few steps away. He tried to clear that from his mind and appreciate the beauty of his home that he'd taken for granted his whole life. The wealth of ginger trees, the crystal arches of the fountain water, the pathways meandering through flowering beds of geraniums and jasmines, and the acres of emerald-green grass. His thoughts recently had been so bloodied by rebels and spies, Roy didn't often get to appreciate what he had.

"Sorry, I guess I know your secret now," he whispered.

"That's okay," Delia chirruped, sticking out her tongue. "You're good at keeping secrets, right?"

Roy couldn't help but laugh. "You have _no_ idea." Besides the giant, subtle spy war, Roy had kept the secret of his party behaviour away from Ji-Yu's ears for months.

Delia beamed with pride, and pounded her chest. "I'm a great secret keeper, you know," she said. "Little ones, not so much. But big secrets – I keep them until I'm old and wrinkly. And this is one of my big secrets."

He grinned, his eyes glinting with smugness. "And do you have any other big secrets, Lady Delia?"

"Perhaps." She twinkled with mischief and her hidden secrets. "You'll have to find out."

Swept up in the moment, Roy gazed at her. He was intrigued, all right – but what _were_ those secrets? What did she keep under lock and key?

A big secret could easily be that she was a spy, working on his death sentence.

But… to be so _open_ about it. Was that foolish in itself, or a deliberate ploy to draw him in?

Roy felt a wash of glumness. He was certainly drawn in. There was a boldness, a streak and hue of something more, in Delia's eyes, and he wanted to swirl the colours. Find out more. Even if it pained him to admit this was probably something worthy for a position on the Board. Secret-Keeper Delia Colestrist.

She broke the stare, glancing back at the garden, and a sudden blossom of peach captivated her cheeks. "Have you already had breakfast?"

Rudy had brought measly jam on toast for Roy to eat, but he wasn't particularly hungry after yesterday. The poison killed his appetite. "I have."

Delia's glimmer dulled. "Ah," she said. "I'd hoped we could… get breakfast together."

Was that… a date offer? Roy paused to let it soak in, before sighing. "I'd join you regardless, but unfortunately I have a meeting to attend to."

She saddened. "Oh, that's okay." She spared one last cast of her eyes towards the bronzing gardens, before curtsying in Roy's direction again. "Then I bid you a good meeting. Hopefully… you'll come by the Women's Room later to address the rest of the Selected girls. We're all… erm, worried about you."

His heart steeled and crumbled all at once. Worried about him, or revolted by him? He could name at least one Selected girl that would scorn his recent actions, and the idea of having to face them twisted his gut. He felt like he wasn't telling the exact truth when he said, "I will."

She turned to leave, when a thought popped into his head. His future queen would have to attend meetings with Roy anyway, right? Why not break some of the girls in now? He didn't exactly know Delia beyond short conversations, and maybe this would be a chance to show her that he could improve himself, and place others' needs before his own.

"Hey, Lady Delia?"

She stopped, and swirled around. "Oh, just Delia, is fine!"

He grinned. "Great. Delia." He paused. "Do you want to come to the meeting with me?"

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy, Delia and Durante came face-to-face with Alex and Barney outside of Conference Room B, a buzz of activity already occurring behind the closed doors. He could feel an angry aura before even approaching the room.

Alex and Barney were huddled around a newspaper in Barney's hands, and when Roy and Delia ambled closer, Roy recognised the front page. It was the same newspaper they'd shown him yesterday, when they'd landed in their helicopter. The article about the fashion show.

Why had they brought that here?

Alex looked up first – and sneered. Roy felt an immediate claw in his gut writhing with discomfort.

"Fitz," he snapped, with more fury than normal. "About time."

Barney added, "You're late."

Roy grinned smugly. "A prince is never late. Everyone else is simply early."

Delia sniggered on his arm. Alex shot her a glare before refocusing on Roy.

"When you're finished quoting _the Princess Diaries_ and becoming _irresponsibly intoxicated_ , maybe then I can take you seriously as a prince."

Roy felt Delia's grip on Roy's arm tighten, like she very much wanted to defend his honour. Somehow, she managed to hold her tense expression, but he could see a bonfire igniting in her eyes. He, too, conjured some form of calmness amongst the calamity.

"What do you want?"

"Did you do it?"

Roy cocked an eyebrow. "Do _what_?"

Barney hissed. "Did you convince _Mother_ to make us stay for the month?"

Ah. So that was why they were angry. Roy could have laughed – their expressions, so taut and creased with anger, rolling off them in a corona of darkness. It seemed to ease Delia, too, knowing that Alex and Barney had lost their tempers before either she or Roy had.

Roy responded coolly, "Like I would _want_ to keep you two around for more than necessary. No. I didn't, nor wouldn't, convince Aunt Philippa to keep you here."

At this, Barney blew out a serrated sigh. "I told you, Alexander. There's no way Fitz would want that."

"Then who?" Alex snapped, swirling to face his brother. "Who would want to punish us like this?"

"Have you considered," Delia said, with a booming ferocity, "that it was your _mother_ that wanted you to stay? Maybe to learn some manners?"

Alex rounded on her, eyes flaring. "H-How dare you!" he barked. "I am Crown Prince of the United Kingdom Commonwealth, Prince of Wales, and Honoured Son of the union between the House of Windsor and the House of Schrea—"

The conference room doors swung open, and Aunt Philippa stepped out. Her red hair had been neatly pinned back, stark and sheer, over her pale-blue suit-dress.

She brandished her gloved hands with hurried gestures. "Don't throw around your title like that, Alexander, for goodness sake," she chided. She acknowledged Roy and Delia with a sweet smile. "Roy, Lady Delia. Wonderful for you to join us. Please come inside, before my sons decide to recite their coronation vows."

Alex shot a death glare Roy's way before traipsing behind Aunt Philippa. Likewise, Barney's upturned lip matched his wary glare, before he, too, followed his brother.

"You're sure you want to join?" Roy whispered. "It's like a zoo in there."

Delia chuckled. "Too late now."

He wished it wasn't. Sensing discourse, he quickly turned to Durante and whispered, "Wait outside."

Durante just nodded, but he didn't look like he was going to enjoy the moment's peace either.

Advisors from the court had already taken seats at the table. Eleanor Cahill strung her arm over the back of her chair in a relaxed manner, but her clenched hands and pursed lips suggested anything but an easy going attitude. Madam Tremaine's frazzled hair, coiffed into a strict bun, seemed greyer than normal. Hobbs rolled a pen in his hand, whereas Ramsbottom gained another five chins as he regarded Roy with a hiss.

Alex and Barney took their seats near Aunt Philippa. Another newspaper was spread out in front of them, less crinkled than the one in Barney's hands. The three of them sat adjacent Ji-Yu. Amongst the silence tension, Ji-Yu looked like a tundra – cold and calculating, but she didn't even glance in Roy's direction when he walked in. Merrick cast a grim smile his way, but said nothing.

Roy pulled over another chair for Delia to sit, between him and Gemima Chi. Unlike the other advisors, who seemed to burden varying degrees of anger or disgust, Gemima, too, was a picture of cold calm. Her hands were clasped on her lap, but unmoving and still.

All eyes on Roy, he reluctantly let Delia slip into her seat, and the stares of the other advisors thrummed against his conscience.

Alex and Barney stood up. Alex cleared his throat.

"Thank you for joining us this morning at this _ad lib_ meeting." He nodded in particular to Merrick and Ji-Yu. "We are here to discuss the actions of our beloved cousin, Prince Roy. My apologies, Aunt Ji-Yu, Uncle Merrick, if such a topic is delicate, but it cannot be ignored."

Roy shrank at the words. Of course, Roy, Merrick and Ji-Yu, and possibly Gemima, were the only people at this table who knew the real story. Who knew that Roy's behaviour last night was not due to his own actions.

He glanced at his parents, hoping for some sort of excuse, something they could say that would prevent an imminent verbal slap-down from his evil cousins and the rest of the royal court. But Merrick twiddled his thumbs.

Ji-Yu cleared her throat. "You called this meeting, Alexander. You are quite welcome to make your concerns known."

Alex took this as sign to continue. He swivelled Barney's newspaper around on the table, first – the older one, from the fashion show – for everyone to see. "Witness Prince Roy's behaviour at the charity fashion show a few weeks ago. Where he _stumbled_ onto the catwalk. A charity fashion show, and he decides to appear _drunk_."

The advisors consumed Alex's hatred with equal amounts of fervour, nodding, grunting agreements, tensing their faces with concentration. Even as Roy glanced to Aunt Philippa, but she wasn't look at him, staring at the newspaper with a smooth frown.

"Then," Barney continued, brandishing the newer newspaper, "the headline for today's _Illéan Times_ was _WHINE FOR WINE. PRINCE ROY, DRUNK AT FAMILY PARTY_."

Roy, again, deflecting the glares of the advisors, his heart thrashing inside him, looked to his parents as a beacon of hope. But Merrick stared hard at the table, and Ji-Yu gave him a knowing look.

 _Endure, for their sake_.

"I was personally offended by your behaviour last night, Roy," said Alex, monotone, but not without an evil glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "That at the party meant to honour us, you couldn't rein in your desires for one night. Do you have no respect for us, then? Is that what I'm meant to take away from your actions last night?"

A bubble of anger popped in Roy. _They_ had no honour for him, either. Their wine-spilling stunt said everything about that.

"What excuse do you have now, Roy?" Alex said, facing him. Sticking the spotlight in his face. "What could possibly explain this?"

Roy scoured the article, but the only thing he could see was the title, and his misshapen form, draped over Satan the maid. His cloak pooled around by his feet, his head hung like a corpse.

No wonder this world didn't take him seriously. And it pained him – to his very core, that he couldn't enjoy a hobby without being judged left and right by people like Alex, Barney or Ramsbottom.

"I… don't have an excuse," Roy admitted, and the words clipped his tongue. "I just went overboard."

" _Clearly_ ," Alex said dryly.

" _Alexander_ ," Aunt Philippa chided. "You may make your point without being cruel."

"Apologies, Mother," he said, refolding the newspapers. "If the extended stay of my brother and I is official…?"

He glanced at Aunt Philippa with a twinkle of hope in his eyes. Perhaps she'd changed her mind since last night.

But Philippa turned as rigid as steel. "You are staying."

Alex sighed dramatically. "Then, since my brother and I will be staying for a…" he winced, "a _month_ , I'd like to propose that Roy be permanently banned from alcoholic beverages. No vodka. No champagne. No _wine_."

No wine? Good. Roy never wanted to go near wine ever again.

Still, it meant he had no opportunity to cut loose. And with the twins around, it was going to be even harder to endure the days when alcohol would make them whizz by faster.

"I also propose that Prince Roy has a permanent escort around the palace."

Roy choked on that. " _What_?!" He shot to stand. "I'm not a damn _child_."

" _Jun_ ," Ji-Yu snapped at his language.

"Aren't you?" Alex shot back. "The guard is only to prevent you from sneaking a secret stash of alcohol around somewhere."

Fury and fire collided together, and Roy stared into that icy-blue abyss that were Alex's eyes. He'd once been told that his cousins were sought-after young bachelors, some of the most handsome men in their country, but he could see nothing of that now. Only a devil wishing to make his life misery.

Roy clenched his fists and sat down. Immediately, Delia's hand pressed onto his lap, and he could feel her soaking away some of his anger, like a conduit of emotion. Delia may not have known that he was drugged yesterday night, but her touch certainly helped to remind him of his morality.

"Fine," he grounded out. "But only if it's Officer Durante."

"Who?"

"My bodyguard. He watches my door during the day, and comes with me to events."

Alex shook his head. "No, no. Your escort guard must have no personal ties to you, to prevent bias. We wouldn't want him… looking the other way."

Roy couldn't believe his ears. This boy had been here for a day, and he was already messing with what Roy could eat and drink, and which guard stood outside his bedroom door.

"Mother, Father," he said, whipping to face Ji-Yu and Merrick. "You can't seriously condone this?"

"Alexander talked to us in private beforehand, and we think it is agreeable terms," said Merrick. "I'm sorry, son. But your behaviour…" he flashed his eyes with sorrow, "it mustn't go unpunished."

Roy opened his mouth to fight back – but the doors burst open then, and a frantic butler bowed ungraciously.

"Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesties, Highnesses, Sirs and Madams," said the butler. He scurried to Ji-Yu and Merrick. "We have a message from the South American Empire."

Ji-Yu shot to stand. "Is it urgent?"

He handed her a letter. "Quite," said the butler.

"Excuse us," Ji-Yu said. She and Merrick left the room in a blitz, and the doors shut behind them. Roy could hear their hurried whispers from behind the door.

He felt his stomach leaden. Without them here, he had no safe beacon to crawl back to. No one to look at for guidance. They hadn't even looked back to make sure Roy could withstand whatever came next in this horrid meeting.

Alex rounded on Roy with a sneer, then sat back down. "That is all I have to say."

Barney sat down after him. "This concludes our portion of the meeting. If anyone else would like to add something…?"

Ramsbottom shifted in his chair, glancing at Roy. "Honestly, Your Highness, we'd all thought this Selection had changed you for the better. I see it has not." He scowled. "No wonder the Southern Rebels target you."

Roy felt his lungs coil. He couldn't believe his ears. How… how could Ramsbottom say that so callously?

Delia spoke out, wracked with scorn. "That's _not_ necessary. No behaviour deserves the target of the rebels."

Thank god, Delia was here. Roy might have taken the insult. He smiled, letting it comfort him that someone was on his side, and placed a hand on hers. She stiffened, but relaxed instantly, easing a smiling in his direction.

Ramsbottom, meanwhile, grunted. "Hmph. Well, he makes himself an easy target."

Neither Roy nor Delia had a time to respond, as the doors burst open again – Ji-Yu and Merrick stood at the threshold with heavy frowns.

"We've just received word from the Brazilian Prime Minister that one of the New Asian countries has been spotted testing nuclear weaponry."

Roy's heart frenzied.

 _Nuclear weaponry?_

"Yes," said Merrick. "Prime Minister Fernanda has called us to an emergency meeting in Rio with the other leaders on the continent. Philippa, you might also benefit with your attendance to this meeting."

"Attendance?" Roy echoed weakly. "Emergency?"

"Yes. They are holding an emergency summit during the upcoming week to discuss the potential plans of action we must take, and preparations to complete in case of a war." Merrick addressed the entire room now, and there was nothing glum in his eyes. "Queen Ji-Yu, Queen Philippa and I must make haste to Brazil at once."

Aunt Philippa stood, shaking slightly at the idea, but nodded firmly and pushed out her seat. Roy and the rest of the attending advisors, plus Alex, Barney and Delia, stood up, too. Worry encased Delia like a capsule.

"Nuclear war?" she whispered, terrified.

Roy shook that out of his mind. It was up to his parents to figure out the next step. But one question still remained.

"What about here? Illéa?" he asked. "Who will be in charge until you get back?"

Ji-Yu glanced around the room – the rest of the advisors waiting for an answer, too – and then she looked back to Roy. A grave expression captured her.

" _You_ will, Jun," she said. "From now until our return, you are hereby named Roy, Prince Regent of Illéa."

* * *

 **A/N:** LOL, well, that's quite the responsibility, Roy. :'D Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Apologies for posting this late - I went to London Comic Con yesterday, was so knackered I slept in 'til late today, then went out shopping. My poor feet have yet to recover.

I made another joke poll for bantz, but I'm burning with curiosity for your answers. One option has had a rather indirect effect on the story, but is the biggest threat, whereas the other has had more direct influence, but isn't really the main threat. It'll be interesting to see how you vote...

What do you think of Roy's temporary title? How do you think he'll handle the pressure?! Please leave a review! It's way more encouraging to write when you receive feedback. Favourites and follows also loved! Thanks for reading! Hope you all have a spoopy Halloween! :D

~ GWA

NTT: "I'm sorry, I have to ask... is this a date?"


	26. Prince Regent of Illéa

_Roy, Prince Regent of Illéa_.

Roy stared blankly at his mother and father, for moments, not registering the words. As if seeing into another world, a view of another plane, he saw flashing illusions of himself stepping up to the throne, a heavy crown burdening his head, a thick cloak of down resting on his shoulders.

And the vision slashed in half, with expectations too large, responsibilities too many. A duty he couldn't uphold.

He shook his head, whispering, "B-But I can't…"

Ji-Yu and Merrick didn't wait around to comfort him. Aunt Philippa collected her belongings, and hurried them out of the boardroom. Ghosts of their presence bore down, weighing on Roy as he realised all the eyes in the room turned to him.

The Regent of Illéa.

"Erm…" he stammered, not even sure how to swallow the whole situation. "Well. Meeting… adjourned?"

Alex and Barney raised their eyebrows simultaneously, but didn't comment. The rest of the advisors let out gruff coughs, but began gathering their notepads and pens, and slipping on suit jackets.

A hand pressed against Roy's shoulder – Roy turned to see Gemima Chi with a bony, manicured hand, and grim smile.

"If you need help," she said, "just ask."

"Thank you," he said, wavering with the uncertainty.

Gemima was next to leave after Ramsbottom. A large group followed behind, chatting in hushed, hurried whispers. No doubt, the thought of nuclear war also clouded their minds as heavily as Roy's new title did.

Alex passed a sneer with Barney. "Fancy that," he clipped. "Prince Regent. Certainly not the outcome I had planned for this meeting."

For once, Roy agreed with him, and a clamber of intimidation stilled his shaking bones. He expected to be put down even more, not be given a higher ranking within the sovereign for a few days. Sure, he knew it was his destiny to run the country one day, but this soon? He wasn't even out of the teenage years yet.

Still, it _did_ mean Roy was now higher on the tree of power than both Alex and Barney, rather than equal. What authority did he have in his clutches now? Could a Prince _Regent_ have a person jailed?

He pointed at the door, not bothering to look either of the twins in the eyes. "You are dismissed," he muttered.

Barney's face pinched, somewhere between offence at the words and… was that pity? Still, he didn't say anything as he rolled up his newspapers.

Meanwhile, Alex jerked his head towards the door, buttoning his blazer. "Let's go, Barnabas." He peeled from the room, Barney in tow – the younger twin cast one last look at Roy with a hint of sympathy, before catching up with his brother.

Just Roy and Delia left in the boardroom. The silence was worse than the muttering, almost.

Roy stood, and Delia clutched Roy's hands. "Are you all right? That's… quite a lot of responsibility."

His skin tickled, sparks leaping up his arm from her touch. His thoughts clouded, he didn't think much of her gesture, still unsure what to think, what to do. "I'm… all right." He met her eyes with a smirk, trying to find humour in the situation. "It could be worse. My parents could have made Gail Princess Regent."

A grin conjured onto her face. "Well, she'd give out free unicorns to everyone, at least."

A quit knock rapped from the door, and without waiting for a response, Durante poked his head inside, frowning. "Is everything all right, sir? There was quite a commotion…"

Once his parents left for Rio, Roy would be left with the task of managing the palace – managing the whole _country_ – and he couldn't even let a damn meeting go unscathed. Roy sighed.

"Yeah. Everything's… fine." Roy smirked, trying to regain his sense of self. "And that's _sire_ to you, officer."

Durante blinked. "I…" Realisation dawned on him – given that the doors were open, he must have heard everything that was said. "Oh. My apologies, sire."

Even if Roy didn't feel ready for the position, there was still something irrevocably awesome being called _sire_.

Delia giggled next to him. "Don't let that go to your head now, Your Highness." She pinched a frown. "Or is it _Your Majesty_ now?"

"I have no idea," Roy said. "But _you_ can call me Roy."

She blinked, soaking in the words. "Oh." She brightened. "All right then, Roy."

Some part of him found it soothing, as if his very name eased him. He dusted his suit jacket and powered out of the empty boardroom, Delia and Durante hurrying behind.

"What are you going to do now, then, Roy?" said Delia. She scurried after him. "Are King Merrick and Queen Ji-Yu leaving immediately?"

He'd heard just as much as she had. Roy had no idea what was going on, really. He needed to find them and clarify everything: his job, his tasks, his responsibilities, his jurisdiction… there was so much to think about. So much to consider.

So much that could go wrong.

"I'm about to find out." He paused, turning to her. "Hey, you can go to breakfast now, if you want. I have a lot on my plate to take care of now."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You don't need backup with the twins?"

He laughed. "I don't think they can do any evil pranks on me now. Don't worry." He grinned. "I'll be fine."

Delia nodded, briefing a curtsy, before leaving down the hallway for the breakfast hall. Roy wished he could go with her. After yesterday's poisoning scare, he just wanted to return to his normal life.

Durante stiffened besides him. "His and Her Majesty headed to the offices."

So Roy and Durante headed up to the next floor of the West Wing. Indeed, as Durante said, Merrick, Ji-Yu and Philippa crowded themselves in Merrick's office, occasionally crossing the hall to Ji-Yu's, collecting papers and files from the cabinets and shelves. Gemima also stood a distance away, whispering reminders in Ji-Yu's ears and snippets that made Merrick nod.

He approached Merrick, who was haphazardly seated at his desk. The door had been propped open. "Er, look, I know it's an emergency, but you can't just spring the whole _you're King_ _now_ thing without telling me what this involves."

Merrick's glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, as he scribbled some notes onto a sheaf of papers. "I'm sorry, son. It _is_ rather urgent."

Ji-Yu popped back from her side of the hall, handing Merrick a file. "Here's the report about the weapon inventory." She glanced at Roy. "I'm drafting a list of things that absolutely need to be done in our absence."

"How long are you going for?"

Merrick said, "Two weeks."

" _Two weeks?!_ " Roy squealed. "But… that's so _long_. How am I supposed to manage without you?"

Ji-Yu took the moment to smirk. "Most boys your age would have moved out from their parents."

He shot her a dark look, unable to appreciate her humour. " _Most boys my age_ don't have a country to worry about. What…" he trailed off, before regaining courage. "What do I even need to do? What kind of tasks will I need to complete?"

"There is a conference on Wednesday with the French sovereigns about finalising our trade proposals. You'll have to head that." Ji-Yu scratched her chin. "There's also the weekly meeting with the advisors, but that shouldn't be too long. You need to sign off the education reforms, speak with the Yukon council about a change in their fox-hunting policy, address the nation on the Capital Report on Friday—"

" _It_ ," Merrick shrilled, silencing Ji-Yu, "will all be on the list. Don't worry."

Ji-Yu gave him a questioning look, but relented, gesturing to Gemima. "You shall have Advisor Chi's help all the way, as well. There is no need to fret."

Roy flopped his hands to his side, realising he'd been tensing his shoulders. "I mean, as _un_ - _frettable_ as _nuclear war_ is."

Roy knew enough about World War IV to know he didn't want a repeat.

Merrick bit his lip. "Yes, this is unfortunate news. But the testing of weapons does not necessarily mean nuclear war, per se. Just that we should be wary."

"It's bad enough to warrant an emergency meeting," Roy countered.

"We need to be prepared for the _possibility_ of war," said Ji-Yu. "But, if we've learnt anything from the last four, it's that nothing good ever comes from wars." She sighed, waving Roy out. "We need to pack things."

Roy ignored the dismissal. "What about Gail? Are you taking her with you?"

Merrick gave him a pointed look. "No. This trip is strictly business. She is _top_ of your list." He'd taken on his fatherly tone. "Make sure she's accounted for all the time. Lanna will always be here, but make sure you play with her, since your mother and I won't be there."

Gail was the least of Roy's worries. How could he moderate trade deals and revolutionise Illéan policies?!

Philippa placed a hand on his shoulder. "With my sons staying, and involving themselves in Illéan politics, you should have all the help you need." She whispered. "I know this morning was… a little hard on you. I'm sure they mean well."

Roy wanted to cry with laughter. _Help_ and _the twins_ were words that would never appear in the same sentence. They were going to be the biggest hindrances to Roy's first attempt at reign. They'd certainly stamped his ability red in that meeting.

Ji-Yu and Merrick exchanged concerned glances.

"Yes," said Merrick. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, we really must pack."

Roy grumbled the entire way down the corridor, knowing full well that this two-week excursion meant an entire change to his daily plans. With kingly duties to attend to, now he couldn't focus on finding perfect revenge on the twins, or focusing on the spy. Easing his flaring reputation.

If his Selected girls had even a hint of that disgust Delia had shown, what sort of reception would he get from the girls today? Certainly, judging looks and a yelling match were on the table. Maybe one or two of them would leave the Selection all together, concluding that Roy was still the same man they'd met those months ago, and that they didn't want to spend their lives trying to advocate for change. Roy knew he couldn't avoid them forever, but maybe half a day would be enough to let the heat of the situation boil over.

He thought about his stomach and its fragility, the poison from yesterday leaving a lingering mark of nausea within him. Roy, with leaden feet, treaded back to his bedroom.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Early into the afternoon, Merrick, Ji-Yu and Aunt Philippa left for Brazil, taking a handful of advisors with them.

Roy was now, officially, the Prince Regent of Illéa.

Ji-Yu's list was ginormous. Sweat streaked down Roy's forehead more ferociously the more he read. Familiarise over the new crime policies for Carolina. Meet with a council from Labrador is discuss the creation of new jobs. Approve the official opening of a new airport runway. Record a message for a charity event in Midston. There were so many small tasks amongst the large ones that Roy wasn't sure he could handle anything.

Of course, half of these involved job delegation, but he didn't know who in the royal court was good at what, and whether they had their own tasks to complete.

His office felt empty and alone, and, attempting to clear his first workload of the day, Roy signed off what seemed like a thousand papers detailing a new plan for insurance taxes. Most of the words flew over his head, that sometimes he signed the page before he really understood what he was signing, forcing him to go back and read through thrice more times.

Even then, he had interruptions every ten minutes from just about every advisor left. Unfortunately, Merrick and Ji-Yu had decided not to take Ramsbottom with them, and Roy had come to loathe him from the comments he'd made in the meeting. His passive-aggressive tone left Roy in a state of total stress, and he could feel it weigh down to the very marrow in his bones. Hobbs, too, was hardly the epitome of kind, and at one point Roy even caught him _sneering_.

At nearly four in the afternoon, Roy had finished five of his listed tasks alone – but it had reached the point in the day when his thoughts overran him, and something buzzed at the back of his mind. He'd still not seen his Selected.

What if the break gave them more time to stew? He dreaded to think how they would react the minute he stepped into the Women's Room.

But he said he would see them. And he knew he couldn't avoid them forever. So Roy stood up from his desk, readjusted his crinkled suit in his mirror, and left for the Women's Room.

The walk was the worst part, and his rampant brain whispered scorn and fury with each step he took. Would the Selected girls all withdraw? Would they throw things at him, or turn their backs? The possibilities were endless, and it took serious willpower for Roy not to chew his fingernails in nerves.

He knocked quietly on the door. The girls had probably just finished their classes with Sashi for the day, and he hoped that they'd all returned to their rooms.

"Come in!" called a voice – Avianna DeLaurence's.

Roy sucked in a long breath, shoving away those evil, paranoid whispers, and nodded his head to the door attendant.

"Announcing the arrival of His Highness, Prince Roy."

The Selected girls were dotted amongst the sofas and tables, the window seats or fireplace. With only seventeen left, the room was less crowded than when the Selection had just started, and now each person was more noticeable than before. Lilly and Eulalia had integrated with Camilla and Ferelith around a white coffee table. Maeve, Delia, Avianna and Persephone were sat on white cotton beanbags in the corner, playing what looked like Pictionary on whiteboards. Ambrosia was reading a book without the jacket in an armchair by the fireplace, and opposite her on the sofa chatted Alisa and Chiara. Sherlock, Riley, Regina, Elise and Skylar horded around a birch table, murmuring. Levinia, as usual, was by herself, sipping a coffee and idly browsing her mobile, probably Chirping.

And Luna…

She stood a distance from everyone else, her arms crossed, leant against on the bookshelf, her eyes trained to the ceiling with the same aloofness and ice. If she'd worn a leather jacket and biker boots, as opposed to the short, black dress patterned with purple flowers and strappy black high heels, Luna could look like someone who lingered by broken lampposts at night – but there was the hint of loneliness there, too.

The girls immediately came to stand, placing down whiteboards or books, to curtsy.

Roy opened his mouth to speak.

" _Prince Roy!"_ Chiara barked, rocketing through the space between him and the fireplace to point an accusing finger in her face. As usual, not afraid to get angry. "You got _drunk_ at the Bonfire Ball?!"

The girls' didn't react with surprise at her words. They were probably expecting it. Roy wasn't at all surprised by her fury, either.

He gulped, his lungs clenching. "I-I'm sorry."

"Sorry?!" she barked. "Didn't you say that to me _before?!_ Didn't you say you would _change?!"_

Roy was nearly sure he'd promised no such thing, but certainly didn't want to test fate in front of Chiara. He held up his hands in a surrendering pose. "I know, I did, and last night… last night was a lapse in judgement." He addressed all of the girls in the room, studying each of their expressions – their interest, disgust, discomfort, and drank it all in, before he finally settled on Luna, if to get some sort of reassurance that he wasn't going mad. "That's why I came here today."

Chiara retracted her arm, squinting at Roy with disbelief. He soaked in another breath – his chest hot and his head pounding – and stood back, again, to make sure every Selected girl could see him.

"I… made a mistake last night. I clearly thought I could handle more than I can…" He hoped the light joke would ease the tension within him, or in the room, but it did neither. "Nonetheless, my actions were foolish, and this gives me no excuse for my behaviour."

Roy hadn't even done much that affected anyone. All anyone saw was him being dragged out from the Bonfire Ball in a heap, if they even spotted that amongst the crowd. If that stupid Satan the maid hadn't laced his drinks with poison and drugs, he wouldn't have to stand on this podium of shame and take responsibility for something he didn't do.

Again, his gaze wandered to Luna, and she fixed him with a stare that was neither empathetic nor apathetic. Perhaps it was an act she continued, or just her usual aloofness shining through.

He continued. His apology felt as half-hearted as he did. "I am… sorry, for the distress I've caused you, and I understand if any of you want to leave."

A silence. The girls exchanged glances. Even Chiara seemed to contemplate the notion.

Then, her arms crossed.

"Pffft," she sputtered. "We all knew what we were signing up to, Prince Roy. _Roma_ wasn't built in a day, and neither, will you learn from your mistakes in a month or two. But there's a scope of change."

Nods from the other girls. Roy just blinked stupidly. It was the most sagely thing he'd ever heard come from Chiara's mouth.

Then she hissed. "But you're still an _idiota_ for biting more than you can chew."

"I know," he relented, grinning sheepishly. "You're welcome to call me an _idiota_ for the rest of my life."

"Us, too?" said Avianna, smirking. "I think _idiota_ sounds great."

The girls let out low chuckles, and it comforted Roy that at least, they could make fun of his apparent drunken behaviour.

It could be worse. "Sure. _Idiota_ it is!" He laughed along with them, before reining it in. "So, none of you want to leave?"

Chiara's red dress flared at the hem, and she kicked it out and flicked her hair at once. "We've all already had this discussion, you know." Her gaze flickered in Luna's direction. "Luna said you were actually quite sick. Not from the alcohol."

Roy's gaze burnt into Luna. She'd told them about the drugging?!

Luna stilled, but a determined frown captured her. "Yes. Remember: you said to Seph, Maeve and I that… you had a lot on your mind at the moment. You didn't look like you were really enjoying yourself."

He did remember saying that. But it certainly wasn't because he was feeling unwell. He smiled quaintly. "Ah, yes. I… wasn't fully enjoying myself. I suppose I thought the drinks could change that."

Chiara cocked an eyebrow. "Then you puked in the hallway."

Sherlock snorted. "Ew."

Roy really didn't want to remember that. He'd never be able to show his face in that servants' corridor ever again. He ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, I know. Not pleasant." He mustered his broken pride, and turned to Luna. "May I… speak with you, for a moment?"

Luna straightened off the wall, uncrossing her arms. "Of course."

He offered his arm, slipped his with hers, and together they left the Women 's Room.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Neither Roy nor Luna spoke, searching for a quiet spot to share their secret. Walking with no purpose until they were far, far away from the ears of Selected girls, advisors, or nosy guards. With her heels, she was nearly Roy's height, and he could just see over the top of her loose hair, which trickled down her shoulders like melted dark chocolate and streaks of honey.

Luna clamped her heels down, jerking Roy to a halt. "I'm sorry, I have to ask… is this a date?"

He blinked, not even considering the prospect. Given that she was here against her will, _originally_ , he wasn't sure how to approach the romance scene. "Erm," he murmured. "I mean, it isn't, but… we can make it one?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "It's your decision."

He pursed his lips, weighing the idea, before shrugging with a smirk. "Sure, why not?"

Luna nodded slowly, also weighing his decision – he could see it in her eyes like hazel cogs, clicking and shifting with calculation. "All right. Where to, Your Highness?"

"Back to _Your Highness_ , are we?" he teased, leading her to an empty room. "I seem to recall you calling me _Roy_ yesterday."

She pouted. "Er, yeah. When I thought you were _cheating_ on _all_ of your Selected."

Roy had the butler bring up a cheese board with grapes (no wine), and they settled themselves into the Amendment Wing's drawing room. It was one of the least used, given that Roy hardly ever wandered down this corridor, but he liked to think of it as a place reserved for special occasions. It was almost like the Women's Room white, birch furniture and baby-blue patterns, shaped like fans, with the occasional accent of navy – in a streak in the glass cabinets, or the carved knees of the coffee tables. There wasn't the most pleasant view, of the side of the outbuildings, so most of the time the curtains were drawn and the chandelier kindles, its crystal light shattering against the upholstery.

Luna shifted herself several times on the sofa cushion until she was comfortable. "Would you prefer being called _Your Highness_ , then?"

"No. _Roy_ is fine." He grinned. "Though, technically, it's _Your Majesty_ now."

She didn't look like she believed him. "How is Prince Regency?"

His mood plummeted. "Suckish."

Luna smirked. "That's not the best way to describe what will be your future."

"Don't remind me," Roy said. He prodded the selection of cheeses with a knife – the rich scents of grilled halloumi, cheddar fondue, and goat's cheese making his mouth water. In the end, he stabbed a green grape with his knife and dipped it into the fondue. "All of my free time has been devoured by small tasks."

Luna stiffened. "And… the Southern Rebels…?"

The meat of the conversation. It was all either of them wanted to talk to each other about, really. "Yeah. Them, too." He studied her, trying to read her emotions, but, as usual, Luna betrayed nothing. "Thank you for your help yesterday. I might have painted my dad's desk another colour if you hadn't appeared."

She winced. "I'm trying not to imagine that." Pause. "The other girls… they were asking me about you. I had to keep brushing them off. They're so curious about the _hows_ and _whys_."

Roy didn't want to be in Luna's position at the moment. None of the girls would bottle him with questions like they would Luna. "I'm sorry."

"Some of them are sceptical about you being drunk."

He stilled. "Who?"

Luna tilted her head back and forth. "Camilla. She said you seemed perfectly sober when you talked to her, Lilly and Ferelith. Seph, too. And Skye."

He could see Camilla and Persephone questioning the authenticity – both girls were perceptive and observant. Skylar, he'd spoken to minutes before seeing Camilla. Given that she'd _recommended_ the food and wine, it was no wonder she was suspicious how he could be drunk during such a small time frame.

He turned all this new information in his thoughts. A spy would surely _know_ that he was drugged, not drunk. But it would be silly to act suspicious about it, right? If he were the spy, and he knew the truth, he wouldn't act suspicious about it at all – he'd drink up the lie as easily as he'd drunk that wine glass.

Unless it was some reverse technique. Given that not acting suspicious left nearly all of the girls in the red, he pondered on Camilla, Persephone, and Skye. Maybe one of them had let slip their true intentions, but covered it as 'suspicion'.

Skye had _literally_ told him to have some of the wine. Was that the clue he needed or perhaps just a harmless comment with a terrible coincidence?

"I see," Roy replied eventually, still rolling the new information. "Why are they suspicious?"

Luna pursed her lips. "The world saw you acting drunk when you were caught on TV and newspaper reports, days before you announced your Selection, remember? They just don't think your behaviour at the Ball matches up."

And they were right, of course.

"You didn't tell anyone?"

He brought her head back, offended. "Of course not."

If Luna was the spy, would she have spread this news despite Ji-Yu's plea, or kept it to herself? There was damage to be done with this knowledge. Compiling his feelings, he decided to attach his thoughts as small notes to the Board. Perhaps this breached how much these girls knew, and how far they were willing to go to look innocent.

"I'll have to sell my _drunken prince_ act better, then, I suppose." He grinned, putting these thoughts on the backburner. "Maybe I'll weep next time."

Luna rolled her eyes, then reached for a grape, chewing on it slowly before speaking. "Maybe I can give you acting tips. You need them."

He pouted, muttering in Korean, " _My acting is fabulous."_

What he didn't expect was her smirk, and speaking back, in elegant Korean, " _It's really not_."

He froze.

" _You… you can understand me?"_

She glanced at him. " _Yes. I don't speak Korean often, but often enough."_

This didn't bode well. Roy spoke in Korean only when he wanted to insult someone and when he wanted to speak privately with Ji-Yu. Usually, their private conversations involved the spy. If Luna ever heard any of their conversations, or happened to catch snippets of their words…

"Are you fluent?" he asked, in English.

"Conversationally, yes. If you start talking about _disestablishmentarianism_ I'd be lost."

It was enough to know about spy talk. Another thing to add to the Board – and whilst it wasn't incriminating to know Korean, it certainly put him and his mother in a delicate spot.

Still, if Luna had overheard their spy chats, surely she would have reported it by now? Of course, there was no way of knowing if Luna had ever overheard him and his mother at all, given they had been mostly discreet. He'd note it on the Board for future reference.

He was sure his shock triggered the wider smirk on Luna's face. "Surprised?"

"Er. Yeah. Aside from my family, I don't know anyone who knows Korean – why anyone would want to learn Korean at all."

Luna shrugged. "My parents thought it would be a good idea for me to know Korean. Probably so I could impress you, if the time ever came."

One good thing came from this. They could talk about the _drunk, not drugged_ situation in front of the other girls without any of them knowing. Unless any more of them could suddenly spout Korean, too.

Roy dipped a slice of brie into the cheese fondue, uncaring with how gooey and tangy it was on his tongue. "Your parents must have predicted the future. Or they were prepared."

"The latter," she said, taking the knife and spreading the goat's cheese on the accompanying crackers. "They prepared me for a lot in life. My mom… she's the one that entered me into the Selection without my knowledge or permission."

Roy frowned. "I'm surprised you didn't drop out."

"I told you I wanted to… see how it went. I actually made a deal with my mom after I was Selected: if I actually _tried_ , she'd… leave me be."

"She'd… _leave you be?"_

"Yeah. She wants me to do more than just act. Be a politician, like she is. I'm studying International Studies because of her, though I've temporarily paused my degree for the Selection." She bit into the cracker with forcefulness, and chewed laboriously. "We agreed that, if I tried in this Selection, with _you_ , then she wouldn't annoy me anymore about being more involved in politics."

Roy plucked a grape and fingered it idly. "You know your mother's double-crossed you, right? Getting involved with me is about as deep into politics as you'll get."

She grinned at that. "I know. Clever."

"Well, I can relate to you on dragon mother, if that helps." Roy had his fair share of ugly disagreements with Ji-Yu. "I know what it's like to be forced to do something you don't want to do. This very Selection wasn't my idea."

She gazed at him. "You're Prince Regent now. You can cancel it."

He popped the grape into his mouth. "Nah. I'm too engrossed." He grinned. "Besides, I'd be denying all you lovely ladies the chance to be with _this_ " – he gestured to himself – "bundle of greatness."

Luna rolled her eyes, fixing another goat's cheese cracker to snack. He knew she meant well, but there was a lingering mysteriousness about Luna – and even her heavy words about her mother hadn't dispelled it.

"In all seriousness, Roy," Luna started again, turning to face him on the sofa. "I hope we can continue to be honest with each other like this."

Roy's hand wavered over the cheese crackers. "Honest?"

"Yeah," she responded, with the first hint of uncertainty in her tone. "We're both used to the spotlight, but when we're alone…" she smiled – a tiny curve of her lips, "let's just be ourselves."

Roy absorbed her words, nodding slowly. "… Yeah, all right." He dusted his suit. "Though I can definitely say I'm as witty as I am in the public eye as I am in private."

She rolled her eyes, but her expression wasn't unkind. "Of course you are." She settled with a few more grapes, popping them into her mouth. "So… you're never going to tell the others the truth, about the drugging?"

He tried to imagine how much easier it would be to tell the Selected girls the truth. But there were so many ways the information could slip free into the hands of nosy reporters, gossip columns, or even the rebels themselves. If the world knew the monarchs were afraid, the world would cower with them.

He shook his head. "No. At least… not now. Maybe later on, when the talk of it all dies down."

An icy gloss cast over her. Obviously, she didn't agree with the decision, but wasn't willing to argue against him for it. "I see," she said. "But know that… you can't lie to your Selected forever."

Sadness swept over Roy. He'd lied to his parents for months about his parties, he lied to his father about the presence of the spy, and now he would lie to his Selected about the severity of the rebels. Lying felt so natural to Roy, now, like breathing – each wisp of air twisting into something more beautiful than its true nature, each smile masking a frown.

How long would his lies continue?

"I know," he whispered, suddenly crestfallen. "I know."

"At least you recognise it," said Luna.

They fell into a silence that Roy wouldn't describe as awkward, but tranquil, and needed. Luna seemed just the type of the person he could sit with a not have to talk endlessly, and though Roy like to swap stories, sometimes, just sitting and appreciating the beauty of silence was good, too.

"You know," Luna said, breaking that dam. "We are your Selected. We can help you, with regency."

Roy tried to imagine the girls helping him with his menial signings and approvals of new criminal justice reforms. None of them, had the skills or the knowledge, even if they'd been learning about politics and history in their classes with Sashi. Not even Persephone was perfect, good enough to fill in the role yet.

Without Ji-Yu, he had even less support in regards to the spy problem. Certainly, the spy would take advantage of the occasion. With the king and queen out of the way, it would be so much easier for the spy to worm her way into his life, his sovereign, and his heart.

Despite the intended warmth of her words, Roy had a sinking feeling he'd be tackling his new title alone.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh dear! Will Roy crumble? Will he ever spill the beans to his Selected girls?! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I realised something funny today. Bonfire Night is the 5th November, so the Bonfire Ball falls on the same night. This chapter takes place the day after the Bonfire Ball, and likewise, today, the day I've posted this chapter, is the day after Bonfire Night. So technically this chapter takes place today... give or take a hundred years, but still!

So I think university is sucking the fun out of writing again. I still haven't finished next chapter, so I'm worried I might not be able to post on next Sunday. I will try, and if not, I'll let you all know via Pinterest. Hopefully I can kick writer's block out of the window.

Btw, I have a Selection-themed tumblr called kiles-butter, and I was thinking of making some 'aesthetics' for this Fanfiction. Yay or nay? I have no idea how to make them lol, but I think it'd be cool. :D

Reviews loved immensely! What did you think of Luna? And Chiara? Favourites and follows also loved! Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "Are you not part of Prince Roy's... er... _harem_ _?_ "


	27. Decisive Action

A few days later as Wednesday rolled around, Roy strode down the hallways, fidgeting at his tie.

Today, he headed his first meeting. Not just any regular meeting, too – a trade meeting, with French royals. To discuss the delicate matter of imports and exports.

France was a good friend of Illéa's, thankfully, as one of Roy's ancestors had once fled to France to elope with the princess there. They'd shared good relations since, and still, Roy could only hope today would not be the day he destroyed that bond by accidentally saying _omelette du fromage_.

He rounded the corner to the conference room, and spotted Persephone Cahill with her notepad and pen, furiously trying to sweep non-existent dust from her dress. He'd invited her along as his aid, to ease the pressure off himself. Maybe he'd thrown it onto her now, instead.

She brightened as he approached her. Her red hair, which was usually down, coiffed into a strict bun upon her head, with strategic strands floating down to her shoulders. Her dress today was a formal navy colour, touching the tips of her heels, with deep blue lace around the hem and bust.

"Roy. Great." He wasn't sure when she'd become friendly enough with him to call him by first name, but he didn't correct her, and nor did he want to. "Princess Leeza will be here any minute."

He groaned, memories from his childhood racing back to the forefront of his mind. "They sent _Leeza_ , of all people? Why didn't anyone tell me this?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Hobbs knew, but he didn't think it was important. Is it a problem?"

Of course he wouldn't. Roy tried to rein back his displeasure without much success. "Yes. I don't like her, and she doesn't like me." He mocked a pompous voice. "Ooh, _regarde_ at _moi_ , _Petite Madame Perfect_." He groaned. "Everyone likes to compare me to her since she's a distant cousin of mine, and also the crown princess, but it's like she was born without a single drop of _fun_. She's a boring, snobby, goody-two-shoes who thinks she's better than me."

Persephone raised a prim eyebrow. "You puked on her at a party, didn't you?"

"… I can neither confirm nor deny your statement."

Durante, who stood behind Roy and Persephone, let out a light cough, and nodded his head down the hallway. Roy dared to turn, and spotted Princess Leeza of France surrounded by her personal guard. She never walked – she sashayed, thick hips swinging. Her red hair, shades lighter than Persephone's, curled in a wild mane down her chest, yet still appeared effortlessly styled. Despite her short and curvy stature, she carried a pout that signified that if Roy were to cross her, he'd be down and out before he could say _baguette_. Her dress was not like the ball gown wear of the Selected girls – instead, it was made of two parts, the top striped with three-quarter length sleeves, and the high-waisted skirt long and flowing.

Freckles mottled her cheeks as she came closer. " _Bonjour_ , good morning, Prince Regent Roy," she said. Even with the heavy French accent, he easily noticed the reluctance and withdrawal in her tone. She offered a hand. "It is a pleasure to see you again after so long."

He knew that _she_ knew that was a load of Pottery dung. He jerked his head up, grasping her hand and shaking as fleetingly as possible. It would have looked like a gesture of ill-will, but Roy didn't have to put on a show, since Clarity and Rainerd were appearing for photos _after_ the trades were settled.

He grunted an unenthusiastic, "'Sup, Leeza. How was the trip?"

The informality seemed to throw her off for a few seconds, before she recovered, pinching her cheeks again. She looked up at Roy, blue eyes sparkling with determination. "Tolerable."

There was definitely an edge in her voice. "Where are your parents?"

"They are too busy running my country, so they have sent me in their stead. Where are _yours_?"

Again, the sharpness.

Once, Roy had been told that Leeza was a beautiful young princess, and desired by many in her country. He didn't see it at all. This, he realised, seemed to be a running trend with his foreign cousins, no matter how distant. Thank goodness he hadn't invited Alex or Barney to the conference.

He knew again, very well, that Leeza knew exactly where his parents were. She was too engrossed in the world of international politics not to know about the emergency meeting in Brazil – besides the obvious fact that Roy was named _regent_.

"I'm sure you've heard about the acquiring of nuclear weaponry by New Asia."

Her pout fell into something grave. "Yes." Her _s_ rolled into a throaty _z_ sound. "It is unfortunate. Hopefully, it can be sorted soon." She hurried along, as if standing in the hallway was uncomfortable, and glanced in Persephone's direction. "Who is this?"

Persephone lifted her chin, offering a curtsy before her hand to shake. "Welcome to Illéa, Your Highness. My name is Persephone Cahill. I am His Highness, Prince Roy's aide for the meeting."

Leeza shook her hand – there was a head difference in height – but Leeza didn't appear intimidated at all. "Are you not part of Prince Roy's… er…" she rolled her hand, " _harem?_ "

Roy choked on the air, his brain contracting at the word. " _H-Harem?_ "

Persephone's mouth dropped open with similar reaction. "I…" she clamped her mouth shut for moments, regaining composure, before laughing nervously. "No, I am not part of Prince Roy's… _harem_. I _am_ , however," she continued, "part of Prince Roy's _Selection_."

Leeza's taut face seemed to indicate that she knew _harem_ was completely the wrong word to say. "Ah, yes. That." She cleared her throat. "Shall we begin the trade meeting?"

She didn't wait for an answer, marching into the conference room with dust churning from her steps. Her personal guard followed her inside, speaking fast and quick French.

"Well. That could have been worse," Roy quipped.

Persephone frowned. "Worse than someone calling your Selection a _harem?_ "

Roy was pretty sure that was near rock bottom. "Touché. Let's get this meeting over with."

They paused at the threshold, and Persephone gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. Some of the tension flowed from him, so much so that his skin felt cold when she let go. Still, a trade meeting was a trade meeting, no matter who it was with – some deals had to make today, even it the low tremor in his bones made him want to run, and run far. She ambled inside, and he followed, adjusting his suit jacket.

He crossed the room to the head of the table, as was custom for Prince Regent. He could feel Durante's presence nearer the back of the room, his vigilant eyes always on watch. Persephone sat to his immediate right before the table curved, seating Gemima Chi, and, unfortunately, Advisor Hobbs. Hobbs had been grating Ro's nerves for the last few days, more than even Ramsbottom had achieved, but he wasn't entirel sure why Hobbs kept shooting the nastiest looks his way. Leeza's party sat opposite – Leeza at head, with her aides by her side, and her personal guard lingering behind.

Butlers came forwards from the shadows of the room to provide water, but Leeza was so determined to get the trades over and done with she waved them away, scribbling in her notes furiously. The minute takers stretched their hands. Bars of morning light draped across the table and carpet, shining into Roy's eyes with flickers of gold and orange.

Hobbs let out a grunt, guzzling some of the water. The stubble on his chin was groomed, and cut sharply to give an impression of power. "Good morning, Your Highnesses, sirs and madams." He locked eyes with everyone at the table – except Roy. "I am Owen Hobbs, trade and market expert for the royal council, and mediator for this meeting. Today we are here to iron out the final details of trade imports and exports between Illéa and France."

Roy glanced at Persephone, hoping his strained face put across how indisposed he was to this meeting. Persephone wasn't looking at him, however, as her focus was entirely on Hobbs. Pursing his lips, Roy turned back to face Leeza and made a show of opening his folders. He'd read everything and memorised the details, of course, but it wasn't like he had to take notes.

"I think our first matter to discuss should be the wheat imports." He flickered to the notes from the royal council, and recognised his mother's handwriting – she wanted a lower trade price. He gazed at Leeza. "We spend nearly two-point-four million dollars on French wheat. Surely this figure can come down?"

Muttering between Leeza and her aides. Then, in a swoop, Leeza raised an eyebrow. "Given that we also import wheat from Northern Illéa, spending _four-point-eight_ million dollars, perhaps we can work on a deal."

How could the tiny country of France consume more wheat than the entirety of Illéa? He didn't dare voice it, and instead withheld his sigh. What a start.

Instead, Advisor Hobbs clamped his hands on the desk. "Illéa already pays an extortionate amount per pound and gallon to France for cheese and wine, and now you wish use _wheat_ against us?"

Roy's blood froze in his veins. He quickly cleared his throat. "I think, what Advisor Hobbs means is, that we would be happy to reach a trade deal that is agreeable to all."

Hobbs shot Roy a look – Roy wasn't sure what he was meant to take from it, but let it bounce off his shoulder. Leeza and her aides didn't seem too impressed at the outburst, but muttered to one another in French.

"Yes, that would be good start," she said, monotone.

The meeting continued on, bartering back on forth on trades for food, metals, oil, fuels, and even certain types of aeroplanes. With each proposal, each conversation, Advisor Hobbs' comments became more acidic. _This isn't a fair deal._ _That is a bad move, Your Highness_. _Our country deserves better._ Soon, sweat began to careen down Roy's back, coating his forehead in a thin veil, plaguing him with terrible thoughts. Was he not doing enough to push for Illéa's desires? Was he not fighting for the best for his country, whilst Leeza escaped with fantastic deals?

Even Leeza began to snap back at Hobbs' comments, but it still didn't help Roy to ease into his seat.

After an hour, heat seemed to be trapped within Roy's suit. They'd combed through most deals, Roy and Persephone fighting for as best as they could – but still, Hobbs did not seem pleased. Every word that seemed to come from Roy's mouth would set off a harsh scratch of his pen, and a dubious glare Roy's direction.

Roy clasped his hands together, trying to erect a mental wall between him and Advisor Hobbs, and focus.

Leeza said, "Speaking on behalf of the director of _Peutroen_ , I believe our current offer to send two-hundred thousand of the _Peutroen C-50_ model is a fair exchange."

He cleared his throat. "My partners at _Forsylr_ would argue _three-_ hundred thousand seems fairer."

The room turned eerily silent. Roy dared glance Hobbs' way, and saw his meaty neck glistening with redness and sweat.

Leeza didn't relent. "Your Highness," she said, taking on something patronising. " _Peutroen_ is one of the best car manufacturers in the world. I do not believe they would see an extra one-hundred thousand as _fair_. The cost of shipping is already so large with the previous shipment of the last model to your shores that our profit margins have seen a drop."

Persephone chirruped, "We have already agreed to lower shipping rates." Her notepad open, her fingers traced her written notes. "Lowering them further would be more of a cost than benefit."

Hobbs said, "Three-hundred thousand or nothing."

Roy whipped his head to face him. "Now, that's a little drastic, Advisor Hobbs."

" _Drastic_ is that we agree to this sham deal," he countered, sneering at Roy before glaring at Leeza. "The _Forsyler_ management would turn their nose up at such a horrid offer. We cannot condone illicit business practice."

"It would be _illicit business practice_ to accept your absurd deal," Leeza said, her tone calm, yet laced with warning. "Mr Hobbs, please. This is a trade meeting."

"Yes," Roy said, channelling some of his inner Ji-Yu he had inevitably inherited. "Mind your tone. I make the decisions here."

Hobbs widened his eyes, his groomed beard warping his face. Then, he intertwined his hands, his knuckle blanching. "Your _parents_ would argue for a much fairer price, _Your Highness_. I am the _trade expert_. I know what I'm doing."

Roy turned to face him, seeing Persephone shrink in his peripherals. "My _parents_ wouldn't condemn this as _illicit business practice_ , when Princess Leeza is merely proposing from her side. I don't need to be a trade expert to know that."

He growled. "Ridiculous. I am not _condemning_ , or doing any such thing. I am merely focusing on the flawed deal, and pointing out to you that this is something we should not bow on."

Roy gritted his teeth, shoving down a bluster of anger deep in his gut, and tore his gaze from Hobbs to Leeza. "How about if we half the original offer? Two-hundred-and-fifty thousand?"

Hobbs gasped. " _No."_

Leeza pondered this, ignoring Hobbs' outburst. The aides whispered into her ears, and for a long moment, only their quiet French mutterings could be heard. After a tense few minutes, she spoke, "Yes, that seems like it could work for both our parties." She nodded her head towards Persephone. "With the lowered shipping rates, of course. Nonetheless, I shall have to discuss this further with my _Peutroen_ contact before agreeing to anything."

" _Your Highness,"_ Hobbs said, straightening in his seat. "This so-called _trade_ is a mockery of our system. How could you agree—"

" _Hobbs,"_ Roy snapped, feeling the fury within him like a dragon rising from slumber. "You've been condescending our trade agreements this entire meeting. Is there a _desperate_ problem?"

"I wouldn't be arguing with you if there wasn't," he said, snidely.

A shudder skittered down Roy's spine, forcing him ramrod-straight in his chair. "Can you wait until _after_ our guests have gone before voicing your displeasures?" he muttered.

"If I wait, you'll drive our trade to the _ground_ , Your Highness," Hobbs shot back. "Your business compass is utterly _wayward_. How can you expect to rule if you are so _blind_ as to very simple practices of our market? Have you learnt _nothing_ about our country?"

Breath vanished from Roy's lungs, his chest frozen in a pinprick of time. The morning sunlight seemed to sear into his clothes, burning through his skin and fibre, clashing furiously with a cold in his heart.

Hobbs had just… insulted him. Outright.

 _Have you learnt nothing about our country?_

He stared, mouth open, for a few seconds. The silence palled, leaving Roy's thoughts to run wild with scorn and outrage.

And this time… he listened.

Unable to stammer the shaking of his arms, he muttered. " _Get out_."

Hobbs seemed to recognise the significance of the words, his vexation mixing with regret. "I— I beg your pardon?"

"I _said_ ," Roy snapped, " _get out_."

But Hobbs held his ground, standing up. "This is an utter dishonour—"

Roy shot up. "Did I not make myself clear?" He thrust a hand towards the door. " _Get. Out_."

Hobbs bore his teeth, gathering his things. "I knew it this whole time. You're just a _boy_ trying to fill the shoes of a _man_."

" _Get out!"_ Roy shrieked. " _You're fired!"_

" _H-How dare you—!"_ Hobbs gasped with a tremor. "You can't fire me!"

"I am the prince, and I am the Prince _Regent_ ," Roy yelled, unleashing a meteor of anger. "I can do whatever I damn well want, _whenever_ I damn well want. You are _fired_ , and if I ever see you again, I will have you _banished_ from my borders!"

Hobbs seized his things, hissing, "You may have the title, Prince Roy, but you will be a _sin_ for this country. Illéa will destroy itself under your rule!"

At this, guards began to approach. Gemima, doing something for the first time this entire meeting, stood from her chair stone-faced, and escorted Hobbs out. He marched his exit, stealing no looks back at his lost career.

Quaking in Roy's brittle bones didn't end, even as Hobbs' thunderous footsteps down the hallways ceased to be heard, and the bulbous tension that followed drew on for a long stretch of time. Gemima snuck back into the room, retaking her seat, the squeaking of the chair the only sound to follow.

Roy could only hear the vicious smashing of blood in his ears, and his heart thrashed against his ribcage, begging for solace in solitude, to liberate himself from the uneasy stares of everyone in the room. He'd just fired his parents' best trade advisor. _Fired_ him. Regret pummelled through his rage, but he found himself too cold, too overwhelmed to feel much of anything at all through the turmoil in his chest.

His eyes crossed to Leeza's side – her face wide and full of expression, her eyebrows curved high on her forehead, her lips parted in an _o_ shape, slivers of sweat through the wild curls. He dreaded to think the words going through her head, and the heads of her advisors.

What did they think of him now? Reckless? Childish? It was clear he didn't have the capacity to act professional in front of foreign diplomats.

And Persephone... he couldn't even muster the courage to look at her.

"This meeting is adjourned," he murmured, his voice croaky. "Excuse me."

He marched out of the conference room, desperate for the clean light and silence of the hallways. For a whiplash of fresh air. No one stopped him.

Rainerd and Clarity Snaps leant against the windows – Rainerd stared absently outside, whereas Clarity fiddled with the film of her camera. They jumped at the sight of Roy, Clarity rushing to shove the unravelled film back into the compartment in the camera.

Roy gulped, resisting the urge to rake a hand through his sticky hair – he'd completely forgotten about them. What would they write in the _Illéan Times_? What headline would they use to describe the utter disarray happening within his court right now?

Rainerd straightened, brandishing his camera. "Your High—"

"No pictures," Roy snapped, harsher than he intended. "You're both dismissed."

Before Rainerd could complain, Roy stormed down the corridor for the garden, and didn't look back.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

A recent rainfall scent whirled through the air with a sticky thickness. Roy shucked his suit jacket at the threshold, demanding the guards to let him pass through the open doors, and drank in the fresh air. It streamed through his shirt, his now loose collar, and danced around the hem of his trousers.

His first trade meeting. And it was a disaster.

Hobbs' angry face pulsated like a vivid illusion, haunting him. Even as Roy stumbled down the stone steps, passed the five-tiered fountain, and onto the acres of clipped lawn, Hobbs' acidic words repeated over and over again.

 _Illéa will destroy itself under your rule!_

Was it true? Was Roy going to be the downfall of the country he so loved?

He bared left, fleetingly aware of Durante's presence at the door he'd just come through, and embraced the thick gardened area of the palace grounds. Bronze trees with flittering leaves, damp with rainfall, and wild flowers just wilting from the autumn weather. Dew winked from the emerald stems, and shallow puddles rippled as his feet disturbed their silent stillness. He followed a quaint paved path, through a trellis of wisteria and ivy, and a copse of evergreen trees, until he reached the high, white wall surrounding the gardens.

A tall labyrinth of green hedges, trimmed to precise box-shapes, rose above Roy to his right. He reached out, and the shorn leaves prickled at the touch, the cold damp texture seeping into his skin, standing the hairs on his neck.

The palace's garden maze was somewhere he liked to come as a child. Because he's been through so many times, he'd memorised the routes, but he could still come back to feel like he was an explorer on a miraculous adventure through time and space. To find a hidden peace with himself. The staff weren't as lucky – once, he'd let Lanna follow him through, only for her to get so lost he had to go back in to retrieve her.

He tried to let that memory cloud him, ensconce him – but Hobbs' words slapped each attempt away, throbbing through him like a migraine. He glanced behind him, spotting Durante's shadowy figure trying to follow, and the distant sound of voices calling for him.

He recognised Persephone's voice.

But Roy didn't want to confront her, or Durante, or anyone. He needed time alone.

Without thinking, Roy plunged into the maze. The high shrubbery soon loomed over him, seeming to reach the cloud-specked sky, to blot out the sunlight into mere shards. He swerved and staggered down rows and columns, the way out burnt into his memory, and stroked his hand on the hedges as he went.

Sometimes he liked to believe that, even in a maze, he could find his way out. Even in times of confusion and war, Roy would find a way out. Roy would follow the path, and find freedom.

"Your Highness?" Durante's voice carried over the hedges. "Your Highness—"

"I'm fine. Wait for me at the other side," Roy called back with a croak in his voice.

No reply – and Roy hoped that meant he was going around the maze to the exit, not trying to find him within. Roy continued, recalling each meandering turn, each fork in the road, remembering the patterns of the scuffled dirt or the formation of scattered pebbles. Each, guiding his way.

Hobbs was gone now, and there was nothing he could do. Even if he did go to the advisor and plead, Hobbs would likely refuse to take his job back.

What would Merrick and Ji-Yu say? One meeting, and Roy couldn't even handle that. How was he expected to handle it when they weren't there to right his wrongs?

He barrelled down a corner in a burst of fury, suddenly angry.

And slammed into something.

Too much weight on his end, he fell forwards, landing on top of the assailant. He grounded his hands into the dirt to avoid smacking their face. Dazed, Roy lifted his head.

It was Elise Belmont tucked underneath him – she'd flattened her tiny body in recoil. Her ash-brown hair, mucked with soil and twigs, splayed out on the dirt track, and her tea dress, midnight blue and embroidered with winking jewels along the waist, had browned and stained in patches, torn in sharp cuts at the hem and neckline.

Wide-eyed, she stared at Roy as if she was seeing him for the first time ever, the shocked blue of her irises like droplets of a crystal lake.

He stared back – blinking to absorb the moment – before the realisation smacked him.

He was on top of a girl.

Scrambling off, Roy pivoted onto his back. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry—"

Elise leapt to stand in one movement, bowing and saluting manically. "Oh my gosh! I'm so, so, so, so, _sooooo_ sorry, Your Highness!" she babbled. "I-I didn't even see you!"

Her mad display of bowing and saluting, at least, brought a smile to Roy's face, and he cracked a grin. "I think we can both agree we weren't looking where we were going."

She offered him a hand, which he took – noting that her palms were slicked with sweat, and a light scent of nature, of overturned soil and fresh grass, wafted from her. She raked a hand through her hair, even though burdock and specks of goosegrass clung to her, and smoothed out her dress, even though it only seemed to smudge it with more dirt.

Roy swept himself off too. "You look like you've gone through hell." Did he push her _that_ hard?

She laughed nervously. "Oh, well, not really," she said, shying suddenly. "I've been in this maze for… the best part of three hours."

Roy choked. " _What?!"_

"Or was it four? It might've been four." Pause. "My stomach says four."

Gobsmacked, Roy unhinged a wild stare. "Why didn't you call for help?"

A bright smile enveloped her, and she gave a thumbs-up. "Oh, I like a challenge. I've wanted to tackle this maze in under an hour, but I haven't been able to do that yet, so I thought today might be the day." She paused again. "It's not."

Despite it all, Roy let out a snort of laughter. Her appearance – her sheer determination, made him laugh more than it should have. "Clearly." He surveyed the area, recognising the angle of the hedges, the swift sway of the leaves. "You're completely lost."

Elise dropped the smile. "I am not lost." She spun on her feet, also taking in the area. "I am just… _orientationally challenged_."

" _Orientationally_ is not a word."

"It is now."

"So… you're lost."

Elise waved him away. "If that's what you want to call this, Prince Roy, I can't stop you. Even if you're wrong. Because I'm not lost."

He felt his bad mood slipping away, freeing the crevices of his heart, allowing his caving lungs to expand. "All right then, Lady Elise. Which way would you go next?"

Elise pursed her lips in an _I've-been-caught_ way, and she flickered her glance left and right. "The right way."

"The right way is…?"

"Down a path."

"And down a path is…?"

"… The right way."

He snorted again. "So lost."

" _Orientationally challenged_ ," she corrected, with a smile. Then, she pointed dramatically south-east, down one spoke of a forked path. "I believe this path will take me to the exit."

Before Roy could stop her, she marched down with renewed determination.

"The exit is the other way," Roy called.

Elise stopped, paraded mechanically back to the head, and said, "I believe _this_ path" – she pointed down the south-west spoke – "will take me to the exit."

Mood wavering, Roy chuckled, following her down the path. Together, they danced through the current of the maze, stepping over the rivulets and puddles, and leaping over the stone ledges, until finally, they reached the exit.

The maze opened out onto an elevated gardener's patch for flowers and vegetables, encased in a short brick wall. Autumn left the tilled soils that stretched parallel to the wall empty and barren, but Roy knew the first seeds of the next harvest were buried deep within.

Durante and Persephone waited by the stone benches – Durante, pacing so much the grass beneath his feet buckled, wringing his hands together. Persephone, on the other hand, was seated still as the hedges in a breezeless day, her eyes trained to the ground, and her arms crossed over one another. She perked when both Roy and Elise stepped free from the maze.

"Roy," she said – then, nothing else, as if words had failed her, but she cast a wild and worried stare his direction.

Durante cut his pacing. "Are you all right, sir? My lady?"

Elise grinned, clearly oblivious to the undercurrent of worry laced with Durante's words. "Oh, I'm fine, thank you!"

"Same," Roy murmured. "I'm fine."

Persephone didn't uncross her arms. Didn't look like she believed Roy when he said he was _fine_. "Princess Leeza has retired to her quarters until… you're ready. There's a… few more things we need to discuss before all the trades are settled. I thought you might want to know."

He didn't. The delirious amusement at Elise's _orientationally challenged_ maze attempt began to dissolve, trickling away, as that bitter disappointment returned in full frontal assault. The last person he wanted to see was Leeza. The last thing he wanted to think about was trades.

Persephone managed a smile at Elise. "Have you been exploring again, Elise?"

Elise laughed. "Don't you know it, Seph. I'm tempted to go back inside the maze…"

Part of him was desperate to do the same, recapture the peace and serenity it had brought him for a few more moments in time.

Instead, he chuckled. "If you want to be stuck there for another four hours."

"It might have been three," she sang.

Roy snorted – even Persephone, who at best was mildly confused, grinned.

"Well, you enjoy if you do, but Roy," she turned to him, her grin disappearing, "we really need to sort out several more signatures and agree on the car trade deal before anything else."

Claws of dread caressed the caverns of his heart, and the very thought of going back into that room made nausea roll through him. He couldn't imagine facing the humiliation of his recklessness, his explosion in the board room.

He'd _fired_ his parents' best advisor.

And a realisation sliced across him like broken glass, sharp and jagged and unexpected.

He wasn't even mad that he'd fired Hobbs. He was mad about the _way_ he fired him – how he tossed his title, how he screamed and yelled.

 _Illéa will destroy itself under your rule!_

There was truth to his words, however cold and cruel.

His head began to shake before he realised. "No. No, I… I can't go back now." He clasped his hands together, distantly aware that Elise had tensed beneath him. "You can do it, though. You can sign the documents."

Persephone's lips pinched. "I can't do that, and you know I can't. I don't have the authority."

"Well, by the power invested in me, I grant you the power to sign those forms. Do it in my place."

"Roy, it's not so bad. So... you fired Hobbs. So what? He was a horrid man, anyway. We still respect you."

Elise's attention was enraptured with Roy now, and he could feel her concerned eyes upon him, searing into his sides.

He slipped his arm from her, feeling the last vestiges of his dizzy euphoria fizzle out, and steeled. "Leeza has never had an ounce of respect for me. You saw how she acted before we went into the room. Hobbs is just the only one who voices what everyone wants to. I blew up in there."

The breeze seemed to send a shudder down Persephone's frame. "Roy—"

" _No_ ," he snapped, his voice like a booming thunder. "I'm not going back. I-I won't. Everyone thinks I'm the drunken, irresponsible prince. Hobbs was right to say those words. He's the only one with the courage to say it like it is. Like it always will be."

Persephone staggered back like she'd been hit with a physical blow, staring at him. Silent. Elise let out a sharp gasp, that whimsical sparkle lost from her eyes. The wind seemed to taste stale against Roy's tongue, skittering across the surface of his skin like a gauze of frost. He gritted his teeth, unable to snatch back his words, his ire.

Instead, like the coward he knew he was, he turned and blitzed away. He didn't collapse to his knees until he found his bedroom.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy didn't come out of his room for the rest of the day.

Daytime moulded into dusk, painting his room in crimson and cobalt, and the last sputters of gold. Buried in bed in pyjamas, Roy shied from the light, wrapping his pillow around his head – the warmth ensconcing him. His suit was strewn across the floor haphazardly, but he could see the metal buttons of his cuffs glinting in his wardrobe mirror.

He felt as miserable as he looked – his hair spilt across his pillow like ink, and his eyes, though dark and foreboding in colour, were hollow and sucked of the spark of life.

Several people had knocked – Persephone, Durante and Gemima to name a few, eager for Roy to pull himself from the abyss he'd fallen into, but each time, he told them to go away. He didn't want to talk to anyone, see anyone, think of anything.

It was all just too much. Regency, the Selection, the spy. To outsiders, he knew, princehood carried the façade of lavish parties, lovers and luxury beyond wildest dreams, and yet he knew, that when the twilight faded and night arose, he was one day closer to the biggest burden of all.

He couldn't manage a week. How could he manage the rest of his life?

A quiet knock rippled through the silence. Roy grumbled to himself.

"Go away."

A pause. Then, the door clicked open.

About to throw a pillow at the assailant, Roy threw himself into sitting position. Cold air lunged at him as the duvet slipped down his naked shoulders and torso.

"I _said_ , go—…"

Rudy's arms crossed. "For once, I'm going to ignore your wishes, Roy." He closed the door behind him and frowned, taking in Roy's appearance with increasing alarm. "What on earth is going on? It's hardly seven in the evening."

Roy didn't try to kick him out. Rudy was stubborn. He flopped back onto his bed, seizing the duvet and cocooning himself within its escaping warmth, and glared at Rudy's profile through his vanity mirror. "What _isn't_ going on, is a better question to ask. And I'm not in the mood to answer it, so if you could just make your own way out of my room and leave me alone—"

Rudy walked around to the side of the bed, glowering over Roy. His red hair seemed to burn as dangerously as his expression. "I heard some chatter from Persephone about you firing Advisor Hobbs and walking out of an unfinished trade meeting."

Hobb's contorted face thrust itself into Roy's mind so fast and swift, he might as well have been standing in Rudy's place. His scowl, his sneer. The disgusted faces of all the advisors, his family, his Selected, his people. Roy could see the box he was trapped inside, scarce of air, weighed underneath a barrage of haunting voices and mocking cackles.

He just wanted it to stop. To wipe the slate clean. To be Prince Roy, heir to the Illéan throne, not the _irresponsible, wild prince_.

Roy avoided Rudy's cutting gaze and shrank in his sheets. From a well of snark inside him, he reached down and pulled something up. "That's _Lady_ Persephone to you. Since when are you so _buddy-buddy_ with her?"

Rudy deadpanned clearly ignoring his question. "Why are you hiding in your room?"

"I would call it a tactical barricade."

" _I_ would call it running from your duties." He tensed. "Princess Leeza is waiting for you to finalise the trade deals."

He scowled. Persephone hadn't tried to sign the forms, had she? The thought scathed and exacerbated like a faint headache.

Yet, another part of him fractured. Of course, she couldn't. She had no power, despite his intentions. He wondered idly how much trouble it would be, or how much trouble he would be in, to transfer his duties to her temporarily, and gift her that power he didn't want. Maybe he could teach Gail how to signature.

One constant was that he cared very little for Leeza's duties. "I hope you didn't tell her to hold her breath."

Rudy bore his teeth. "For goodness sake, Roy. These meetings won't run themselves, and neither will the palace. You're needed. You can't… mope here all day."

"I'm the prince," Roy said, pursing his lips. "I can do what I want."

"Not when there is a country depending on you." He softened. "Get up. I'll run you a bath. You can finish the trade signings and have a late dinner, and an early night."

Roy scoffed. "You sound like my mother."

"Clearly you _need_ your mother, as otherwise there would be no one else to operate things here."

Roy felt a kindling ripple through him, incensed by his words, and he rolled over, refusing to look at him. "You don't get to say that to me," he snapped. "You don't know how difficult it is."

That softness disappeared. "Yes, it must be _extremely_ difficult to manage your country from your bed and pillow. Do you have the court advisors hidden under that comforter as well?"

He could hear the sharpness of Rudy's tone, no doubt also fuelled by Roy's words. Instead of hiding under the pillow, which every fibre of him cried to do, he threw off the duvet and yanked a woolly jumper from his wardrobe. Even in his state, it felt too awkward to argue half-naked, and Roy wanted to make his stance as powerful, as meaningful, as possible.

"You must know all about that, right? Running a country?" Roy challenged. "As if helping _one_ person get dressed in the morning can compare to helping over three-hundred- _million_ people survive and live."

Rudy stilted, taking a step back. The words seemed to wash over him like filthy surf. But his eyebrows furrowed, deeper, nearly crossing together. Fury glimmered from him like the flash of eye whites in a patient predator.

"I have never compared _my_ duty to yours. I am still _fulfilling_ my job, whereas you are here instead of out there. I can't tell you what it's like, but I know for certain that sulking all day isn't going to help—"

"I'm _not_ sulking!" Roy yelled. "I have the world's burden on my shoulders! Everyone expects me to be perfect, to be precise, but I can't do any of these things! _Be_ any of those things! I—" He stumbled over his words. "I'm just the same _damn_ wild prince I was months ago before this whole thing started. And god, I need a bottle right now."

"Alcohol will not solve anything, and you know that," Rudy levelled, his voice hushed no more above a low growl. "And regardless of your reputation, you have a responsibility to your citizens. You can't show them that you want to be a good ruler if you're complaining about how _difficult_ your life is, not doing _anything_ to prove the contrary. In fact, it probably adds fuel to the fire of your _irresponsible prince_ reputation."

Rage blasted through Roy like a furnace, and he spat, "Oh, of course, you _don't_ get it! Have you ever been _mocked_ on international papers? Have you ever had to worry about every aspect of your life, nothing private? Nothing for yourself? Have you ever had the _scorn_ of entire peoples, entire countries?"

"And you wouldn't _have_ that if you stopped shoving your head in the sand and getting drunk!" He laughed, but it wasn't kind. "You're smarter than you realise, Roy, but you're also as dense as a brick."

Roy laughed too, bitter and raw. " _I'm_ dense?" he said. "I'm not the one tangled in some pathetic _Cold War_ with my damn _bodyguard_."

At once, Rudy took another step back, and utter surprise flickered on his face like candlelight. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished, the wick cold, and Rudy darkened like a corona of shadows had descended upon him. "That is _low_ ," he snarled.

Roy splayed his arms. "I will literally say _anything_ at this point to get you to shut up and leave me alone." He muttered. "I don't care what you have to say."

The valet balled his fists, shaking with taut tension. "I'm trying to _help_ you."

"I never _asked_ for your stupid cynicism constantly reminding me what I _should_ be! How I'm not _good enough!"_ Roy thundered. "I don't _want_ your help, and I don't _need_ your help!"

Rudy steeled. "You're thinking irrationally."

" _I am not!"_ Roy yelled so fiercely it seemed to rumble the walls. Unleashed anger, fury, bottled for so long with no channel to flow down, burst from the voids of his heart, the screech of his lips, and blistered his fingertips. "I _don't_ _need_ your help! I _don't_ _want_ your help! Just—" the words exploded from him, "just _get out!_ _Get out_ of the palace, and leave me _alone!_ "

The blood rush in Roy's ears wasn't loud enough to mask the sharp gasp from Rudy, nor was the bleeding red in Roy's vision enough to disguise the tremor in Rudy's frame, or the soreness of his cheeks, or the stunted pause of his frozen chest. Roy, at once, felt like air had escaped him and would never return. Dust seemed to settle in his mouth, becoming more leaden as the seconds past, the wind howling outside.

Rudy stifled, collecting himself. His reborn glare seemed to hiss against Roy's skin – and Roy could see it, a mixture of emotions. Wrath and fire clashed to create a conflagration so large and untamed, and yet… there were trickles of sorrow, of pain, like speckles of ash in the flames. Burnt out dry, with nothing left to offer. He ripped his gaze from him to the suit heaped on the floor.

"Very well. I can see when I've been formally dismissed." Rudy paused. "I always held a kernel of hope for you, Roy, and for what you could become. But I see I was mistaken. I shall have my bags packed and replacement found come late evening, and you shall find no trace of me by nightfall."

Fury still boiled within Roy, poisoning his thoughts like an adder's venom, but the dust in his mouth left him dry – he, too, had nothing to say, nothing to add.

Rudy looked like he wanted to say something else, but voted against it. He spun out of the room and slammed the door shut.

The blood in Roy's veins seemed to halt, to pause, to absorb the words like disease. Finally, as he soaked in hot breaths and strode greedily across his room, did his warring temper begin to bend and break. Finally, as his heart slowed, did he realise the gaping cavern left in its wake, so large and empty it could swallow him from the outside in.

He'd just fired Rudy. _Fired Rudy_.

The thought quaked through his muscles, and he sat on the bed to comprehend what he'd done. Firing first, his best advisor, and now his best friend.

 _He deserved it_ , said some part of Roy unaffected by the events. Said the part of Roy that wanted to curl up in his bed again and nap for the rest of the day. Its whispers chilled the air like water succumbing to a winter's freeze.

Even if he ran after him, boxer shorts and sweater and all, Rudy would never cave. Not until he knew that not only did Roy understand his mistakes, but had acted upon them, as well. No part of Roy wanted to act, and every organ in his body desired the insatiable taste of alcohol, the wild thrill of a party.

The people would never see it, so... why not embrace it?

It was a throwaway line in the stream of incoherent thoughts, but Roy hooked onto it, unpacking the matter. Why _not_ embrace it? He'd just thrown out two people and pissed off his entire Selected, let alone Persephone and Elise. The relationship with his advisors was fractured with Hobbs' departure, and equally with the other serving staff with Rudy's; Alex and Barney thirsted for revenge for his mere existence; a spy still wanted his head on a spike, and Roy's very name was the punchline of a joke with the common people.

 _What did he have to lose now?_

He threw himself onto his bed and scrambled to the other side, yanking the cord for service until a hurried butler – unmistakably not Rudy – appeared at the door.

"Yes, Your Highness?" said the man.

"Clear the schedule for tomorrow evening. I want a party."

"A… pardon?" said the butler, clearly nonplussed.

Roy growled. "A damn _party_ , man. I'm Prince Regent. My word goes."

The butler swallowed. "But, Your Highness… our foreign guests—"

"Screw them. They're not invited," Roy snapped. Alex, Barney and Leeza could pick daisies in the garden for all he cared. "I want a party with tons of alcohol, tons of dancers, and tons of loud music. Organise it for tomorrow night, and _don't_ disappoint me."

He slammed the door before the butler could reply. Before he could change his mind.

* * *

 **A/N:** Nooooooooo Roy, what are you doing?! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Just like to apologise for the wait. This chapter was so hard to write for many reasons, and motivation was a large one. I don't think this is my best work, but I'm pleased nonetheless to have finished it, and now I can finally move on. I've been slowly chipping away at the next chapter too, so hopefully I can return to my regular one-per-week schedule, but we'll have to see for certain.

Princess Leeza is CranberryTruffle's character! Thanks so much for sending her to me! I obviously couldn't keep everything you envisioned for her, and I added a few twists, but I hope you liked her nonetheless.

So... what's going to happen at Roy's party? What do you think of Elise, who I have been saving for her a- _maze_ -ing debut? What's going to happen about Rudy? And here's a question I haven't asked nearly enough: **who is your top suspect for the spy?!** I would love to know, hahah. Reviews motivate me more than you realise, so please leave one! I also love favourites and follows!

Thanks for reading! Next week... your first real look at drunken Roy...

~ GWA

NTT: "Katrina wasn't even part of his Selection – why did she care?"


	28. Shindig

Even a restless night's sleep hadn't managed to calm Roy's electrified nerves, which seemed to jitter beneath his skin like a fire forever stoked. Throwing today's party was selfish, and wholly to cater for himself and his needs he knew, but he also knew that the world seemed to be crumbling around him. Piece by piece.

When times became tough, Roy always turned to what could gift him a temporary respite. A few drinks, and he could finally forget what had happened in the last twenty-four hours – that pristine picture turning to ashes.

That morning, he'd rang the bell for service, and had completely forgotten what had occurred very late last evening when not Rudy, but another butler – his new valet – appeared at the door to run him a bath and help him dress. The silence was more deafening than Rudy's sarcastic chatter, but Roy, in his stubbornness, built a wall around that problem. Rudy was gone, and he wouldn't let that bother him.

Wearing a plaid suit, he stirred restlessly in his office. He hadn't dined with the Selected girls, Gail, Alex, Barney or Leeza at breakfast, simply because he didn't want to see the latter three, but now he pressed his pen to paper with determination, reborn with a mindset to make everything right. Signing documents that required little reading was the only thing he'd forced himself to do today; he'd even split his other tasks meant for him equally between the advisors.

Most of him was just way too excited for tonight.

Everyone loved parties, right? It seemed so long since he had a _proper_ party; not one of those stuffy events like the Bonfire Ball. There would be no tuxedos or ball gowns, costumes and masquerades. No photographers. No waiting service. Just a room with a bar and thrumming music loud enough to breach the palace walls.

A small pinprick of him, the rational part that Rudy seemed to think had vanished, hid in the crook of his soul, trying not to think how everything could crumble.

But what, he countered himself, could possibly worse? Could he even sink lower than he had?

A knock at his door yanked some of his attention away. He looked up, absorbing the plain, and frankly boring, decoration of his small office. He really needed to add some flair at some point. Maybe get Gail to draw three-legged tigers and stick them unceremoniously on the walls.

"Who is it?" he asked, forming some intimidation in his voice.

 _Let whoever was on the other side feel it_ , he thought. Wild princes were usually intimidating when sober, right?

The person cleared their throat, which sounded like a hyena rasping for breath – Katrina. There was no fear in her reply. "It's me, Katrina. Open this door, Fitzroy."

He glanced warily at the clock. Late morning, lunchtime soon. He knew very well that the Selected girls were in class at the moment with Sashi, leaving Katrina alone for a few hours. Of course, she'd chosen now to annoy him.

Expelling a sigh, he said. "What do you want?"

She opened the door, striding across the carpet, which muffled the clack of her pink high heels. Her dress was a shade lighter in pink, fountaining from her waist in lace. She shut the door, and turned to him – her expression as rigid as her blonde bow-shaped hair.

"We need to have a little chat."

He glared at her. "I didn't say you could come in."

"You didn't say I couldn't," she countered coolly, stealing the large, plush armchair in front of his desk, and sitting with her legs tossed over the right armrest. She didn't focus on her manicured hands, or the crinkles on her dress – solely, her attention was taken on Roy. "I want to know if what Seph and Elise have said is true."

He'd expected that they'd tell everyone else. About how he'd lost his cool under the pressure of the meeting, how he'd refused to rectify his mistake.

 _No, not mistake_ , he corrected himself. He was justified in everything he'd done. Firing Hobbs, declining to see Leeza again… firing Rudy.

The last thought left him with a lump in his throat, and he fought it down.

"I did fire Hobbs, if that's what you're asking."

"Shame. I always liked Hobbs."

Roy cocked an eyebrow. "You never _met_ Hobbs."

She inclined her head with a mocking sneer. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Some of that anger stored from yesterday's emotional episodes resurfaced, and Roy rolled his hands into fists. "If you've come to insult me, you can damn well get out, too."

The words didn't seem to faze her at all. Katrina, instead, frowned with a solemn promise that nothing he said would ever rattle her.

"No witty comeback? No _smart mouth_ response?" she said. "What is wrong with you at the moment? First you're out getting totally wasted at your cousins' welcoming ball despite the fact that your _parents_ were present, and now you're tossing out your advisors."

"You're not asking out of the kindness of your heart, are you?" he said.

Katrina scoffed. "Oh, absolutely not. I doubt I'd care if you were on fire." Her glower seemed to strengthen, as if her eyes were their own sun, blazing into eternal life. "But the other girls want to know. And they're mad, Roy. You have some explaining to do."

Katrina wasn't even part of his Selection – why did she care? Why did she insist in butting herself into something she wasn't invited to in the first place? She'd _blackmailed_ him, forced him to allow her to wiggle into every aspect of his Selection. None of the girls liked her, just as he did not himself.

He grumbled, "Are you their messenger, now?"

"I actually _care_ about the girls," she snapped back – then, her pink lips mustered a smirk. "They all see me as a gateway to _you_ , I'll have you know."

Roy nearly fell out of his chair. She… _cared?_ About the _Selected girls?_ And by what she said… they seemed to care about _her_ , too.

She must have read the surprise on his face, as she scoffed. "Oh, please. Don't look so shocked. I thought there were all going to be a bunch of obnoxious girls clawing at each other for the chance to win yucky you over, but it turns out… they're not like that. At all. I suppose I was… wrong."

He still couldn't comprehend it. Katrina had made _friends_ with them. "Even Chiara? Or Levinia? Or Luna or Ambrosia?" The girls with their walls up, or their personalities loud.

"All of them. They're not so bad, really." She waved her hand. "Even Sherlock, whose jokes are still awful. And Regina writing everything down is… quite hilarious, when you realise some of the stuff that comes out of peoples' mouths." She coughed, as if dismissing her emotions. "They're all still on edge about you. They want to know why you've been avoiding them all since the maze. Elise thinks she did something wrong."

Elise had done nothing wrong. If anything, her whimsy had offered Roy a sliver of light in his own personal darkness. He doubted he'd be having this conversation without her actions.

"She didn't. Tell her she was fine. It's… none of their faults."

Katrina huffed. "You can tell them _yourself_."

Something was holding him back, tethering him to his lonesome as if he was nailed to a wall. He didn't want to see his Selected – he feared their judgement, their reaction.

Tonight, when he was too drunk to care, would at least break the ice of his first interaction since.

"I might just get the chance tonight." He cleared his throat. "Pass the message to the girls to cancel their evening plans. I'm throwing a party."

Her face fell, and it took a few seconds for her to say, "A _party?"_

He narrowed his eyes. "Did you have _other_ plans?"

Katrina pondered on it for a moment, rolling her eyes to the ceiling before meeting him again. "I _had_ organised a sleepover in the Women's Room tonight."

He dangled this information in his head, and he knew he was baited. "You… were going to have a slumber party?" Persephone and Elise hadn't said a word about it yesterday. "Why did no one tell me?"

"We're not obligated to tell you _everything_ ," Katrina snorted. "We all have lives outside of yours."

Perhaps taking the wrong thing from her words, he thought about her persistent role at the palace. If Katrina was as close to the Selected girls as she claimed, closer than she'd ever been before, did she share their gossip? Did they confide in her, or ask for her advice?

And this sleepover… why did he feel so bitter about it? Being left out?

"Well," he said eventually, "rearrange it for another time. I'm not moving my party. There's no dress code, so wear what you like."

"Why are you even _having_ a party?" she asked. "Going to the infirmary during the Bonfire Ball not enjoyable enough?"

He felt a cold rage sluice through him. If she knew the true circumstances, there wouldn't be so much venom in her voice. He sat back in his chair and hid his hands, clasping them together until his knuckles turned white.

"Because regency is stressful, is why I'm having a party."

She eyed the documents on his desk. "Aren't you busy?"

Suddenly swamped with that icy fury, he hissed, "Does it _matter_ to you? If there is a problem with the party, don't attend. Simple."

"Oh, I never said I didn't like a good party. I think you know that already. But the fact of the matter is, you went crazy and fired your advisor, and haven't acted right since. Stress doesn't make you an angsty shark. Seph and Elise noticed it."

She'd mentioned Hobbs… but not Rudy? He wondered if she knew – if anyone besides himself and the serving staff knew. All the girls were aware that Roy and Rudy were brothers before colleagues, so the news had obviously not travelled to the Women's Room yet.

It would, he knew. At some point.

He bottled that problem and threw it into a compartment of his mind, locking the door.

Roy seized a smirk from a reservoir within himself. "This sounds a lot like caring."

Katrina cackled. "You wish."

His smirk fell almost instantly, and he realised he was too tired to keep it up. "To answer your not-question, it's none of your business how I'm feeling now. So go tell the others about the party, and I'll see all of you at nine."

"You should be nice to me, you know." She grinned, feline. "The girls tell me all of their secrets."

 _Secrets_. Katrina would obviously know things about them all that Roy didn't. But… his curiosity became insatiable.

"What sort of secrets?"

Her grin widened. "All sorts of things. Mostly they want to hear about _you_ , of course – it's always about you. But sometimes they tell me their thoughts _on_ you."

His heart palpitated. Roy was desperate for their approval, but equally, also wanted to reject it – be who he wanted to be without being stretched by others' opinions. Still, it didn't mean his interest wasn't fuelled like oil on fire. "What sort of… thoughts? Good thoughts?"

She snorted. "So self-centred. All you want know is if they have _feelings_ for you."

He frowned. "Er, yeah. They're my _Selected_. I might marry one of them one day, so of course I want to know. You would too, if you were in the same position."

A coy smile enraptured her. "Doesn't mean I'm spilling."

All that information, all those secrets locked inside her head. Katrina just had to say it. His Selected were as close to the public as he'd get (and certainly, as close as Katrina would ever get to 'commoners') and a little shard of him so badly wanted to see himself from an outsider's point of view. What were the brutal opinions of the _wild, irresponsible prince?_

She continued, the air thickening, her tone dipping. "Look, you even said it yourself. You're going to marry one of them one day, so why are you holed up in here being moody and annoying? Are you going to address one or any of them?" Her face darkened. "And by that, I mean, when you're _sober?"_

He hissed. "You seem to be assuming that I'm not okay. A little stress never hurt anyone. I am perfectly _fine_."

"I'm not stupid," Katrina barked. "In this five minute conversation, I have gleaned that you are _not_ fine."

Why did he bother with this? Katrina was as stubborn as a weed. That tiny hole in his heart seemed to cave, but he stuffed it full with the promise of tonight, and steeled himself. Tonight, he would feel better. He needed to blow off steam, and he would do that with a glass in his hand.

The true thoughts on the wild prince. He knew the answer – he always knew the answer. _Roy will never be a good king. Roy will drive the country into the ground. Illéa will destroy itself at his hands._

He clenched his fists again. Roy wouldn't cave today. He'd always vowed never to make mistakes, and bending to Katrina's will, to face a terrible darkness, would be just as terrible a mistake to make.

"Just get out of my office, Katrina," he muttered. "I don't have the patience or care to deal with you today." If his words weren't enough, he flicked his hand towards the door, and focused back on the documents in front of him. The words seemed to wilt and scatter in front of him like the petals of a poisonous flower.

He didn't look at Katrina, but her shadow moved like liquid on his table, and her huff was long and loud. "What _lucky_ girls they are."

The door clicked shut, and her shoes crackled against the hallway floor like faint electricity. He sprung from his office chair and threw open the window, drinking in the fresh air. The cold prickled against his skin, welcoming and hostile all at once.

It wasn't that he didn't care.

He cared too much.

The party would still go on. He was having it, no matter what Katrina, or his Selected, or his staff, said.

Shutting the windows, he sat down and returned to his work.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Day turned to night, the dark shadows patterning the carpets of the hallways, and Roy strode his way down to the Great Ballroom – for his epic, mind-blowing party.

He'd avoided everyone for the majority of the day, only allowing the party organisers to beleaguer him with questions until an hour before the grand event. He'd chosen a sparkly suit jacket this time – one he didn't get to wear often, with black cuffs, black trousers, and an untucked white shirt. The clothes he wore often tended to reflect the palace's need for seriousness and traditional values, but he liked to keep his more flashy outfits in case of such moments like today. His hair, too, was neatly combed into a ponytail low on his head, with strands strategically loosened to seem less formal.

His mood had taken a worse that morning, but right now, he was on Cloud Nine. He was going to a party – finally, after months of stress, Selections, and spies. Finally, he could cut loose without having to worry about his parents, his duties, his annoying cousins, or his country. One evening he could take for himself.

And yet, still, a tiny crook in his heart, small as a minute fracture, ached with an incessant pain. Having parties and getting drunk didn't heal his terrible relations or broken friendships. It didn't save his dying reputation, and mend the shattered bond between himself and his best friend.

He gritted his teeth together. No. That was noise, not song. He would not listen.

He rounded several corners, waving cheerily to the guards – who only exchange worried looks – before turning another corner and nearly running into two people.

" _Watch_ it— _oh_. Fitz."

Barney.

Roy's mood soured – he could feel it slipping between his fingers like grains of sand. Luckily, there was nothing he could do or say to stop the cocktail party, since Roy's new title of Prince Regent outranked everyone in the entire palace.

It was strange to see him alone, and not hanging on Alex's arm like a parrot. "Where's your bratty twin?" he said.

Barney's blue eyes crinkled. His tousled hair seemed to shadow his dark expression. " _Working_ , which I know is a foreign concept to you." His voice was a mixture of smugness and disappointment. "Neither of us want to remain locked up in your house for more than the required month, you know."

Roy scoffed. "If you could leave right now, it would be a blessing to me as well."

Barney's mouth seemed to curl upwards with a soft snarl. His gaze travelled over Roy's outfit briefly, and he cocked his eyebrow.

"What on earth is up with your suit?"

They didn't know about the party? Roy shouldn't have been surprised. The remaining British troop were somewhat cut off from his own staff, though even if they weren't, he doubted the boys would find it in their best interest to know about tonight's plans for their least favourite cousin.

"I'm throwing a party." Before Barney could react, he said, "You, Leeza and Alex aren't invited."

Barney opened his mouth and clamped it shut in the same second. He paused, before snorting. "Tch. We wouldn't _want_ the invite, anyway."

Roy fluttered his hands in a dismissal manner. "I'm sorry both of you are incapable of having fun, and that those genes didn't pass onto you like they did me."

Barney hissed, "We _know_ how to have fun, but we also know how to prioritise." A smirk enraptured him, and he looked disturbingly more like Alex than he ever had before. "How are trade deals with France? Have you fired anymore advisors, yet?"

Leeza _still_ needed to sit down with him an iron out the last details. She had refused Gemima and a handful of other advisors, even Persephone, to talk in his place – demanding that this be done by Roy's hand, and Roy's will. He wondered why she would bother, having seen how Roy went about Hobbs' dismissal. He wanted to send a message that it was them or _nada_ , but equally, he didn't want her to slash their market together entirely. She would have to wait.

"Trade deals with France are sparkling, actually," he ended up retorting.

Barney raised an eyebrow. "As _sparkling_ as your jacket?"

"No need to be jealous of my fashion sense, Barney."

Barney rolled his eyes. "You're utterly bizarre, Fitz." He cleared his throat. "Well, if you're going to have a…" he shuddered, " _party_ , I only beseech that you keep the noise down and don't disturb us."

"I will never willingly want to seek you out. Trust me."

"A mutual feeling." Barney turned up his nose. "Enjoy your… _shindig_."

"I will."

Barney turned to leave, but – something kept him still, and he lingered to stare at Roy. To… read him, perhaps? He kept his eyebrow lifted in a perfect curve, as if searching for a hint of regret or disdain, anything. At least, Roy suspected he did this for some form of emotional blackmail.

"What?" he snapped.

Barney's face fell into something tired. "Nothing," he said back, before scuttling around the corner. Probably back to his brother.

Roy had to wonder whether Barney actually _liked_ living in Alex's shadow, following after him like a lovesick puppy.

He shoved the thoughts away, making for his party.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy arrived early to his own party, which he supposed was really sad, but he was beyond the point of care anymore.

The Great Ballroom had been hastily decorated with typical party fanfare –curled streamers caressed the walls like illuminous flowers, and sparkly balloons bouquet gathered in the corners. Blackout blinds shrouded the windows, and a fat disco ball, hanging from the centre of the ceiling, tossed crystal reflection against the entire room like a neon twilight. The parquet floor had been polished to a gleam, with the tiny dais in the back of the room hosting a DJ and his turntable. Hip-hop and club remix tunes blasted from the monstrous speakers surrounding the stage, and dancers, both male and female and decked in sequins, moved their bodies in a sluice to the music.

Immediately, Roy could feel his problems dissolving into the vast outreach of his memory. The beat filled his bones and soul, thundering loud enough for his heart to clamour on time. Already, he felt more at home than he had in the last two months.

Today he would finally embrace who he truly was. Wild, irresponsible Prince Roy.

No guards were allowed inside, a rule Roy had put into place for tonight. He'd condoned a strict perimeter check of the room and a background check of the bartenders, dancers and DJ, (plus, a poison check – some poor person had to taste everything to make sure it was safe for consumption) so that Captain Delacroix felt comfortable leaving only the outer doors guarded by his soldiers. It eased Roy, knowing that their safety was close, but not suffocating.

Before pondering on anything else, Roy swung over to the bar besides the entrance doors.

"You know what I like," he said.

The bartender said a meek, "Yes, Your Highness," before grabbing the apple-flavoured vodka from his shelf of multi-coloured bottles, and adding dashes of mixers, fizzy drinks and sodas, to make it more palpable.

He downed the drink as quickly as the bartender had made it. He knew how his own body worked from so many years manipulating his tolerance.

Another round followed before more people started to trickle in. Taking his drink from the bartender – the drink sharper and more potent than he remembered – he sauntered his way over to first arriving group. It was the first time he'd seen Maeve Reynolds with a frown, but she still looked stunning: her one-piece suit clung to her tall frame in navy, with beading encrusted on her neckline. She'd left her hair out like an explosion of curls.

Alcohol caressed him, a lithe horse ready to race. "Ladies," he slurred. "Maeve. I've never seen you frown."

She didn't look too impressed, maybe that he was already drunk, maybe that they were having a party at all, but it flitted in and out of Roy's whizzing mind before he had the chance to dwell on it.

"I mean, I love a good party, Your Highness," she boomed, though even her loud voice struggled to top the music, "but… you seem kinda'… put out."

 _Put out_. Huh. He sipped his drink, the vodka burning his tongue in the best way. "Nah. I'm as rosy as a daisy. Have a drink. I would recommend the cocktails."

She laughed awkwardly. "I'm not really into alcohol."

Roy didn't forget that there were some who didn't drink, and although he intended to get completely wasted, he knew that wasn't everyone's ideal evening. "Not to worry. The bar also stocks every other drink possible, mostly for mixer. There's a selection of non-alcoholic cocktails."

Next to her, Sherlock Graves cracked a weak grin, but, like Maeve, in a rare sense of wrongness. Her mad dress today, white with three balloon skirts, was layered with lavender tulle, and her hair coiffed into a plaited bun. She seemed to read Roy, her brown eyes skimming over him.

"A _selection_ of cocktails?" she ended up saying.

Though she smiled and told jokes, he could sense an aura of resignation from her. But the alcohol crept through his skin, and he could feel it working its magic. He was definitely tipsy – too tipsy to unpack her uncomfortableness.

"Not as good as _this_ Selection, of course." He grinned. "You ladies are really lovely."

Maeve smiled. "You're a flatterer, Your Highness."

"I'm dead serious," he said, sticking a finger in the air to make his point. "I am _so_ , _so_ serious. I can't even comprehend how serious I am about it."

Regina Landowski seemed oblivious to whatever awkward disease unfurled beneath their words. Her dress reminded Roy of a beach screen, the white tulle skirt striped with striking yellow lines, the charcoal off-shoulder top freckled with sequins. She placed a finger against her lips, which were painted a bold crimson.

"Are you already drunk, Your Highness?"

Roy understood the question, which immediately signalled to him that the answer was _no_. He swallowed another gulp. "Not drunk enough." Before Regina, or Maeve or Sherlock, could reply, Roy gestured to the bar. "Feel free to get trashed today. Or not."

He knocked back the rest of his drink, and followed his own advice.

Eventually, Maeve, Sherlock, and Regina came to join him at the counter, ordering, between them, some alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. Maeve stayed firmly with her milkshakes, whereas Sherlock chanced a fruity cocktail. Regina had no objections to trying a gin and tonic.

From their examples, other girls, too, began to sample some of the bar's wonders. By the time they'd all ordered their drinks, Roy had buried his way through three apple vodka cocktails. And by this time, the alcohol blazed through his system, as familiar to him as his own blood. The world began to spin and blur, and the floor shifted beneath his feet like the tectonic plates of earth itself. Reactions suppressed, and boldness heightened. He stumbled down the floor to make yelled conversation with the other girls.

Not to say he wasn't pleased, but some of them were tipsy. Definitely.

"Roy!" said Skylar, stumbling over to him – she burst into a fit of giggles. "Why do you have four eyes?"

"I'm not wearing my glasses, am I?" Never did he wear his glasses in public, and it wouldn't have surprised him if they materialised on his head right now.

Skye stifled a snort – a giggly, heartfelt laugh that made his heart crinkle with pleasure. She'd worn something more daring, today, than he usual attire – a darker blue clung to her like darkness to midnight, and her neckline plunged just between her breasts. Golden jewellery twinkled from her neck, her ears and wrists.

"Oh, no," she said, "I'm just seeing double!"

Her legs wobbled as she walked to him, and when she was in reaching distance, she nearly tripped over and had to grab his arm for support.

He nearly collapsed in a heap on the floor next to her, and the last dregs of his drink splashed onto the floor. "Whoa!"

Skye regained footing, a fit of giggles erupting from her. "Oh my _god_ , what is this stuff doing to me? Why do I keep seeing double?"

He petted her back, placing the glass on a nearby table. "Alcohol, my lady."

She giggle-snorted again, and he noticed – fleetingly, as his body's responses finally kicked in – that she was still holding onto his arm. Warmth curled through him like the crackles of a winter hearth, and he shivered. Skylar seemed to notice moments later, and she snatched her arm back. Fanning herself, she yanked at the collar of her shirt dress.

"Oh, jeez – I'm sorry. I… er… it's really hot in here…"

It was such contrast to the Skye that radiated confidence when he'd first met her, and when she comforted him in the garden. Maybe that was her drunk type? From confident, to silly and shy? Or maybe she wasn't drunk enough yet?

He shrugged. "That's okay. I understand why touching my arms would be so irresistible."

Skye snorted again, and a flicker of that confidence returned. She lifted her head, butting her chest with her fist. "Well, you're an attractive man. I won't deny it."

His heart fritzed at the words, and suddenly he felt his cheeks bloom. Stupid Merrick genes. "Oh. T-Thank you."

"Are you… blushing?"

"No," he babbled quickly. "My cheeks are imitating tomatoes."

Skye roared with laughter. It wasn't even that funny, the rational part of his mind knew, but alcohol tended to make the smallest things hilarious. Skye waved out her arms, yelling, "Hey girls! Prince Roy is blushing!"

Avianna peeled herself from her dancing group and mooched over, a wide smirk on her. Her dress was voluminous, sketching her knees in generous swathes of crimson. "Oh, _is_ he now?"

Roy crossed his arms as well as he could, with his hands occupied with glasses. "I am not. I am a stoic prince who does not dare deign to blush."

"How about you show us your abs, Roy?" Avianna said, with a wink.

Dammit. They knew. The blush returned to haunt him, and he buried his head in his hands as both Skye and Avianna launched into a fit of giggles. He _definitely_ wasn't drunk enough to get naked – yet – though he hoped someone would stop him before he stripped off all his clothes. That was probably the only thing his self-esteem could do without.

"Mean, mean, mean!" he announced, which only made the girls laugh louder.

"Hey, Prince Roy!"

Roy turned at the sound of Sherlock's voice. She danced over to him – a sparkle heaped in her eyes.

He grinned. "How may I help you, most esteemed jokester of the Selection?"

Strands from Sherlock's bun had loosened, cascading over her bare shoulders. She lifted a finger with determination. "I _have_ to try these pickup lines on you. Are you ready?"

He splayed his arms. "Hit me with your best."

Sherlock cleared her throat and bowed her head – then, in a swoop, she wiggled her eyebrows and fixed him with a wicked grin. "You wanna' be the prince in _my_ kingdom?"

Roy snorted – nearly spitting. "Oh god. That was awful!"

"You laughed!"

"It was a pity laugh! A pity laugh, I swear!"

Sherlock scoffed. "Yeah, right!" She cleared her throat again. "All right, how about this: let's count shoulders." She patted both of hers. "One. Two." Then, she tapped Roy's, looping her arm around him and smirking. "Three and _four_."

His body reacted instantly, this time – fizzling pleasantly at her touch. He dropped his mouth. "Oh, _that_ is good. You sly thing." He petted her hand, which hung off his shoulder. "I'll give you that one."

She retracted, and winked at him. "Eighty-per cent of the time, it works… a hundred per cent."

Roy laughed, waving madly at her as she twirled away to join Chiara, who was currently trying to take five shots in one go. He refilled his drink at the bar before glancing around, spying for anyone else he could bug. Camilla loomed over one of the free tables alone, her champagne flute placed down.

She looked up and froze as Roy circled his way to her. Her teal cocktail dress, veiled with embroidery, matched her teal flat shoes.

"My favourite Stage Double-Checker," he said, making a finger gun with his free hand.

She didn't seem to reciprocate the brazen attitude, but did smile – which was more than he could ask for. "Hello, Your Highness." She stood with her feet together, gathering a semblance of regality. "Are you… enjoying yourself?"

"Am I!" he said, before snorting. "Oh yes. Verrrry much." He placed a finger to his chin. "You know, since you're my Official Stage-Double-Thingie, you should check the stage that dude is on. What's his name… oh…" His brain ran rampant with tangents. "Ah. DJ Rocket."

She frowned. "Do you mean DJ Skull?"

He shrugged. "Rocket. Skull. They sound the same." Pause. "If you add a few syllables, some consonants… maybe a dictionary…"

Camilla actually let out a chuckle – a _chuckle!_ Success!

"Sure," she said. "And I suppose I could go look, if you really want me to?"

He threw out his hands dramatically to DJ Rocket – Skull, whatever his name was – and his drink splashed against the sides of the glass. "I mean, do we want any accidents?"

"Besides you falling over?"

He paused to absorb the words. Had she just… snarked to him? There must have been alcohol in her somewhere, too, even though the glass on the table was nearly full, and her lipstick marks on the rim weren't noticeable.

She seemed to realise her words as well, paling and widening her eyes. "I…I mean—"

But Roy laughed; a throaty, rich sound that burst from him. "Ahah! I knew it!"

She blanched. "… Knew… what…?"

"That you're funny."

Blink. "I… am?"

"Yesiree," he chirruped, waving his free hand. "I always took as you as Super Serious Official Stage Double-Checker Three Thousand, Trademark Roy Schreave, but you have some laughs in you, too. Even at my own expense." He grinned. "Funny is wonderful, marvellous, exciting!"

Her eyes seemed to freeze, and her lips form a line. Expressionless. Or shock. Roy couldn't tell which one, and nor did he have the mental capacity. He downed the rest of his drink, which dripped down the sides onto his fingers.

"Keep it up… if you dare! Mwahahahahah!"

She may have replied, but it was drowned out by the music as Roy stumbled back to the bar to refill again. He could feel the liquids collecting in his stomach, sloshing against the sides of his inner walls. He'd decided to hold out as long as possible before breaking the seal – otherwise, he'd be more at the bathroom than on the dance floor.

He hadn't even gone for a proper dance yet. Who would be his first, unfortunate partner?

Lilly and Eulalia were at the other end of the hall, their drinks also on the table, and their hands weaving into many symbols and shapes Roy didn't recognise. He went over to them.

"Fairest evening to you, ladies," he said, bowing exaggeratedly. "And to you, Lady Lilly."

Somewhere within him, he grasped courage by the neck – he gently kissed the back of her hand. Small, and delicate, and her nails painted a pretty, baby pink.

Glancing upwards, he noticed a furious blush had overcome her. She wore a two-piece, her sky-blue skirt dotted with pink flowers, and her crop top made of fuchsia lace. It was almost the same colour as Lilly's cheeks.

Eulalia snorted. "I see His Highness is enjoying himself."

"Immensely," he replied, standing straight.

Lilly still couldn't manage to say anything, and Roy took the moment to gauge their drinks. It wasn't hard to guess that it was water in their glasses. He nodded his head to it.

"Not the drinking type, either of you?"

Eulalia translated, and Lilly managed to sign – though, he noticed, her hand movements were quick and jerky, and she couldn't meet his eye once as she moved. Eulalia managed an exasperated laugh.

"Signing and alcohol don't really match, Your Highness. Signs are more difficult to understand when your co-ordination is slurred," she spoke. "Lilly has the same thoughts."

In contrast to her companion, Eulalia had come dressed in her usual shabby wear, a dusk pink dress that resembled nurse wear – complete with a white bolero, worn boots, and her hoop earrings that seemed more copper than gold.

Roy grinned wickedly. "That's a shame. I would pay to understand Lilly signing drunk."

Once translated, Lilly managed a small giggle, drowned by the noise of the music. Roy pursed his lips.

"You know, Eulalia, if you want to dress up at all, then you're welcome to ask Lilly's maids."

Eulalia blinked. "I… pardon?"

He frowned. "If you want to wear something more formal to these events. It doesn't really seem fair that Lilly and the other girls dress up, but you don't." He gave her a thumbs up. "You're like one of the gang now."

The disco ball's reflection captured the pallor on Eulalia's face. "I… oh…" She flushed, looking away. "Thank you. That's… very kind."

Why did this shock her? The question revolved in his mind, tucking into a safe space for later musing. His brain couldn't fathom on it for longer than necessary, as the rational chatter in his mind began to slip slowly away the more alcohol he drank.

Shrugging, he placed his glass down next to Lilly's, his attention stolen by her. "May I have this dance? Don't worry about timing it to the music," he said, with a wink. "I'm completely drunk. My timing is _long_ gone."

Eulalia pulled herself from her awkwardness to sign to Lilly, who smiled brightly and nodded. He intertwined her hand with his, feeling to a higher degree the rush that occurred through his arm, the adrenaline chanting in his skin. Her touch was as gentle as a spring breeze.

On the dedicated dance floor, he turned to her. Words now meant nothing, so he gave her a confident grin, and began to shuffle and bob his head to the beat. Lilly copied, her smile unwavering. It wasn't long before Roy broke out the more bizarre dance moves: jumping up and down and pumping his fist, literally head banging, and air guitar, yelling the lyrics all at once. Lilly laughed at them all, perhaps politely, perhaps from genuine amusement.

It was nice to see her laugh, to watch her lips curl higher and higher. She couldn't tell him he was funny, but he could see it. He could _feel_ it radiate from her like sunshine from a star.

He started to twirl – but noticed Alisa Orlov at the entrance doors, knocking for them to open. Her burgundy skirt nearly blended with the darkness. On his second turn, he saw her slither out and away. The shaft of light the open door burnt onto the wooden floor vanished.

Where was she going?

Paranoia struck him still. _Was she the spy?_

Lilly placed a hand on his arm, tilting her head. He could nearly hear her ask if everything was all right.

He reclaimed his wry grin and nodded. With one last furtive glance at the door – appearing as if it had never been opened at all – Roy made sure to note that he would have to find out later, where Alisa went.

More thoughts cascaded with the first. Is she _was_ the spy, and he was in here, unguarded, with no photographers, drunk…

What if the Southern Rebels' grand plan to kill him, began tonight?

Roy shook his head. No. Katrina would have informed the Selected girls at lunch about the party. The rebels wouldn't have had time to prepare an assault on such short notice, compared to the Bonfire Ball, which everyone knew was happening at some point during that week. Could they realistically set in motion a plan an _ad lib_ party?

He remembered Newton's Wife's words. _If I wanted to take your life, I would have done so already. That is the will of Walter, not my own._

Walter Wolanski wanted to kill Roy himself. No one else.

Could they risk sending in their leader, the spearhead for their grandiose plans, into the palace on a whim night, to kill him?

He bit his lip and continued to dance. It wasn't even likely. The guards surrounded the room as well as the outside windows. They would have to commit a serious death spree if they wanted to get into the ballroom and put a bullet in his head. The rebels only wanted the downfall of the monarchy, not the death of thousands of innocents… right?

The song ended, and Lilly placed her hands on her knees and exhaled. Roy did, too – dizzy with fatigue. His thoughts were sobering, throbbing in his mind, enough to steal his excitement away and replace it with dread.

 _Tonight is supposed to be fun_ , he reprimanded himself. _No spies_.

He gave Lilly an exhausted grin, and his eyes glanced over to the door.

Elise Belmont knocked onto the cream wood with her tiny fist, wringing her hands together in a way that suggested, to Roy, that she was nervous.

His heart lunged into his throat.

The door opened and Elise slipped outside as easily as Alisa did.

 _Where are they going to? Were they going to the same place?_

Eulalia came up to Roy and Lilly, with a big smile. "Excellent dance skills, both of you," she said, signing at the same time.

But Roy, his attention glued to the door, just nodded. "Thank you. I… have to use the bathroom."

He didn't wait for a response, slipping between the remaining Selected girls for the door, where he knocked. The bright light from the hallways slapped his eyes awake.

"Oh, Your Highness…?"

Roy scrambled out, squinting through the sear of his vision, ignoring the flustered attendant who, no doubt, hadn't expected him to quit so early. Elise's figure turned down a corridor to the left, remnants of her loose hair fluttering behind her. It was the opposite direction of the Selected's bedrooms.

He had to find out, _needed_ to find out, where she was going.

Because it was either to the bathroom.

Or to do her job as spy.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh ho ho! How will this party end? Where is Elise going...? Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I forgot to mention! The Selection and the Spy has a companion story called **Select Few** , about the other characters in this story... and yes, I hope to write from the POVs of the Selected girls! Please check it out, it's on my stories list. :D

Leave a review if you can! I'd love you forever! Faves and follows also deserving of infinite gratitude!

~ GWA

NTT: "With her head inclined below him, he felt her breath against his neck first, warm and sticky."


	29. Lurk, Shirk, and Twerk

Roy willed his whirring mind into sobriety as he half stumbled, half tiptoed, down the corridor after Elise Belmont.

He knew subtlety wasn't really his thing, and even less so when he was drunk, but right at this moment, he needed to embrace the true gravity of the situation. The direness, that Elise, or Alisa Orlov, could be the spy amongst his Selected.

Alisa herself had disappeared. He couldn't catch up to her now. Guard patrol around the Great Ballroom itself, where his party was being held, would be heavy, but the rest of the palace would be light in comparison, and not every corridor was installed with CCTV footage. She could be anywhere right now.

Which was why it was so important to Roy that he find Elise. If he couldn't find one, he was stuck with the other – determined to uncover her innocence or guilt.

Elise, too, looked like she was trying hard not to be seen. Each corner, she double-checked for guard patrols, before whizzing down with padded footsteps. Roy followed, crouching at each corner to make sure she didn't turn around to spot him. The alcohol made this particularly difficult, and he often spent more time trying to find his balance standing up again than actually following her. Sweat lashed down his back, and his mouth turned dry.

Far from the Selected's quarters, she rounded a staircase and began to climb. Roy watched her disappeared above the golden bannisters before tiptoeing behind. He nearly walked into a pot plant, and forced himself to crawl up the stairs to keep himself balanced and quiet.

When he emerged on the second floor, Roy peered around.

Swathes of pale green tulle breezed around another corner.

 _Where was she going?_

There was almost nothing in this section of the palace, save for empty billiards rooms. If Elise wanted information or documents, she was in the entirely wrong place.

Then again, if she wanted a secluded area to meet with superiors… this was perfect.

He took a step forwards.

"Roy!"

Roy yelped – spinning and tripping on his own legs, and collapsing onto the floor. The impact felt distant, and he frenzied to stand, staring at the staircase.

Strawberry-blonde hair, crowned upon a pale head, greeted him first, and then the deep blue, near purple, eyes of Ambrosia Nichols. Moonlight seemed to soak into her, giving her a glow like fairy dust. Her dress flared at her waist in a turquoise shade like stolen shards of sea glass.

There was something about the way she held herself that spoke of confidence, of radiance. How she lifted her chin to peer down her nose, how her hands fitted in the nook of her waist, how her grin sparkled with mischief.

"Roy," she said again, near breathless. It was laced with a boom, like thunder racing down a knife edge. "Where are you going?"

It was the most he'd heard her say without some form of stutter or stammer. And each word she said staring directly at him, no shying. Even saying his name, without his title, felt strong and sturdy beneath her lips.

She was drunk, he realised.

The drunk Ambrosia was daring and brave. He could sense her presence like that of a Greek goddess.

He swept himself off, hoping she didn't see him fall over. "My party isn't very airy," he rambled, the alcohol still whizzing through his brain. "And I needed some air."

"Good. _I_ needed to see you," she purred, "… alone."

His cheeks heated, those words alone enough to stir something in his gut.

She grinned – then, in her heels, strode over to him. Gently, she placed a hand on his chest. He could feel her warmth beneath his shirt, oozing with pleasure at her touch. And, just as gently, she pushed him to the wall.

Where… was this going?

Roy managed a shaky smirk, but he was too wound up inside, and too drunk to straighten it. In her heels, she was marginally taller than him. "Are you accosting me, Lady Ambrosia?"

The wall was cold against his back – a welcome feeling, as the rest of him burnt like sauna coals. Ambrosia kept a safe distance away, but there was hunger in her, by the lick of her sensuous lips, the sultry undertone of her voice. The gap between them was thick with electricity, and like magnetism, he could feel her pulling towards him.

"I might be," she crooned, closing that gap by a slow, teasing inch. "I've… wanted to do this for a long time, Roy."

He let out a low chuckle, but there were nerves tremoring his voice. "Pin me to a wall?"

And now, she pressed herself against his body, which sent sparks spritzing along his chest and arms, and adrenaline and lust surged through him with fury. But Roy held still, the rational conscience still present in his head demanding he remain steady.

Elise was still out there. And Alisa. Both potential spies. He couldn't be here… doing whatever this was.

Ambrosia leant forwards with a dangerous flicker of arrogance. With her head inclined below him, he felt her breath against his neck first, warm and sticky.

And then, she bit.

Passion roared in him, turned furious from the wet lash of her tongue, the clip of her teeth against him and Roy nearly buckled onto her. He tried to stifle the low groan that burst free from his throat, but it came out gurgled and pleading instead. She kissed his neck generously, desperately, as if a woman begging for air, and Roy let her, moaning softly, his mind completely swept from any and all problems.

Ambrosia broke off for a moment to press her wet lips to below his ear. "You like that?"

He could see gold spots against his half-lidded vision. "Er," was all he could manage.

She pecked him gently across the nape of his neck, then, slowly, dragging her kisses upwards. "Good," she whispered.

And then he tasted it. Her breath.

It was as sweet as citrus fruits and wine. _Wine_. She leant closer, to capture his lips in her own, but the scent of heavy alcohol was all he needed to gently pry her fingers from his chest and push her away. The cold that attacked him was flinching.

"Ambrosia," he said, his voice quivering with that pleasure, slowly slipping away. "Ambrosia. You're drunk."

She lifted an eyebrow. "So?" She winked. "I'm still happy to make out with you."

"I'm flattered, and really into this, but…" he whispered, hoping not to shatter whatever confidence she had gained. "You should… sober up, if you want to do this with me. Before doing _anything_."

A pout crossed her. "Why? My drunk actions are just sober thoughts. I'd still want this when I'm _not_ drunk."

"Doesn't mean this is okay." Each word felt like he was cutting her with a glass shard.

Her frowned turned to steel. "You've made out with tons of girls drunk."

It was true. "The difference is, they'd kiss me sober, too. You… wouldn't."

Ambrosia peeled her fingers from him, and the last of her clinging warmth floated away. Her frown was dipped in hurt, in rejection. "I… have a massive crush on you, Roy. I _do_ want to kiss you when I'm sober," she clarified slowly, nearly desperately. "But I can't, because I chicken out even talking to you."

"Therein lies the problem," Roy said. "Overcome that first. Then… we'll see."

A slash of pain flickered sharply in her eyes. "I… I…"

Roy had very rarely been on the rejected side of a courtship – made worse by being the forefront of a Selection – but he could see the dashes of hope that had eddied in her when she ascended that staircase withering into wisps, as fragile as broken dreams.

He whispered, "I'm sorry." The words sobered him.

Ambrosia took a step back. "I…" Her hand trembled, and she lifted it to her face – which had suddenly turned pale. "I… I—"

Without warning, she sprinted to the nearest pot plant, fell to her knees and vomited, the noise echoing off the hallway.

Roy gawked. She… felt sick, this whole time? The drinks had probably gone through her system too quickly. Perhaps she'd never had a sip of alcohol in her life, and her body couldn't cope.

Well, it definitely wasn't his taste… right?

The sounds of her retching nearly made him want to hurl, too, so he quickly ran laps of the wing to find a maid. The maid followed him hurriedly, and when they returned to find that Ambrosia hadn't moved from the pot plant, and a nasty smell had arisen, the maid helped her find a bathroom.

As abruptly as it had started, it had ended.

Still, Roy couldn't calm his heart, hammering within his ribcage as if it was desperate for release. He knew he made the right decision, of course, but what if he didn't stop her? What would the fearsome, gallant Ambrosia have been like at kissing?

He probably would have been puked on, is one thing. He'd been on the _doing_ end many times, but he didn't fancy trying the _receiving_.

Hopefully, she would be okay. Hopefully, she would forget this entirely by tomorrow morning. Ambrosia struggled to hold a conversation with him, and after that performance…

A thought rammed itself in its place. Elise.

On his jog to find a maid to help Ambrosia, he hadn't seen her. Or Alisa.

It was too late now. He'd never find them in the maze of corridors. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, would remain a secret for now.

But he was still alive. If the rebels really had planned an attack for tonight, now would be an ample opportunity to attack.

They were just at the bathroom. They had to be. When he would return to his party, they'd be there again. Fine.

Roy gathered his thoughts and made his way back to the Great Ballroom.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy's party continued fine in his absence, and, the moment he stepped through the door, he vaulted over the obstacle that was his drunken brain to count his remaining Selected.

And noticed, with seizing horror, that another girl were missing: Delia Colestrist.

He didn't know when she'd left, or why, but it was another puzzle piece in an unsolvable jigsaw. He tried asking Levinia if she'd seen Delia leave, but Levinia couldn't hear him – and nor, by the movement of her eager feet to the music, in her sparkling, diaphanous dress, did it seem like she wanted the prince ruining her vibe.

Deflated, Roy approached the bar for another drink. The bartender began to shake the cocktail maker with the apple vodka before Roy had even leant his head in his hands on the countertop.

What the hell was happening? He couldn't even fathom it. Now that the alcohol had run dry in his system, the same thoughts that had plagued him crowded back into his thoughts.

He shoved them away, snarling at no one, and snapped his fingers. "Hurry up."

The bartender squeaked. "Y-Yes, Your Highness!"

He didn't deserve the attitude from Roy, and Roy knew it, but he was trying desperately to keep his ravenous demons at bay.

Luna shuffled up to join him at the bar. "Whiskey sour, please," she said.

Roy shoved away his thoughts again – knowing that, like the tide, they would return – and chuckled. "Didn't take you as a whiskey girl."

"Didn't take you as an idiot," she snapped with venom.

Roy drew back. "Whoa. Angry drunk?"

She met his gaze. Her dress was short, the hem coloured like piano keys, and her jacket was embroidered with baroque design. It was the perfect outfit for a night twirled away on the dance floor, and Roy could imagine her fitting right in at the Angeles clubs they'd never spoken to each other at.

"I'm not even tipsy, Roy," she muttered. "Having a party, after the Bonfire Ball? Are you crazy?"

He fixed her with a cold look. "I wanted to de-stress. Is that a crime?"

It bounced harmlessly over her equally icy exterior. "There are ways to de-stress that don't involve putting yourself at risk of another _drugging_."

He wiggled his glass. "I took all the precautions, Luney-Loo. Even had a poison checker. Relax." He nodded her head to his outfit, and a compliment stumbled from him before he could stop. "You look stunning today. Nice piano dress. Looks like music could lilt from the very fabric."

Even that didn't seem to warm her. "Thank you, but know that this isn't helping to repair your ties with the Selected after the Bonfire Ball incident." She drew her shoulders up. "After I heard Katrina's message, it's pretty clear to me you don't care anymore."

Vexed, Roy hissed, "As much as I don't care to have this conversation anymore."

Luna's eyebrows lifted. "But Roy—"

Prickles of light snatched his attention, and he swung to face the open doors, eager for mental respite. Was it Alisa, Elise, or Delia? Or maybe all three? And they hadn't been contacting their rebel friends?

His eyes locked immediately with Alex Windsor. His hair, which was usually coiffed to form that sloping shape on his head, seemed to fall flat from the day's hard work, and his suit and woolly jumper were creased. Not as creased, though, as the anger lines on his face.

Roy groaned. _Why?_ What part of _not invited_ did Barney not convey to Alex?

He didn't hear Alex yelling his name as the doors shut, but he could see it, with each sharp spit of his mouth. Downing his drink, and ignoring Luna besides him, Roy slid over to meet Alex halfway between the doors and the bar.

"I'm not sure you got the memo, cousin, but I don't like you. Please leave." Roy said, the insult unleashing a deep writhe of anger within him. "Don't let the door hit you on the butt on the way out."

Alex bore his teeth. "And you didn't even have the guts to tell me yourself that we weren't invited to… whatever this is." He glanced around fleetingly, his disgust growing each second. "Everyone in the palace seems to have an invite. So where was mine?"

Roy narrowed his eyes, which caused his balance to waver. "Nonsense. Barney and Leeza aren't invited, either. And, unlike you," Roy tapped on his temple, "it seems to have got through their thick, thick skulls."

Alex's eyes passed to the glass in Roy's hand, and he sneered. "Big talk from someone who doesn't know their own limit. Do you enjoy drinking so much you can't even walk anymore, Fitz?"

If he knew about the drugging, no doubt, he'd be swallowing his words like lead. But Roy commanded a smirk onto his face, and pointed to the door – his arm wobbled. "The door. That'a way."

But the twin crossed his arms. "No. You know, since I'm here, perhaps I'll stay for a while. Watch the scene." He lowered his head, so that not even the crystal light of the disco ball could wash away the shadows on his cheeks. "You may be Prince Regent, but you don't have the power to remove me forcibly."

Roy knew too well that Alex would take out his camera phone and snap a photo of him walking into a wall, or something equally as stupid, the minute he turned around.

About to retort, Chiara stomped her way over. Her face was flushed crimson – Roy couldn't tell if it was because of alcohol or her general rage – and it clashed with a simple, deep green dress that hugged her hips.

With a glass in one hand, and an accusing finger pointing at Alex, she yelled. " _Idiota_ , you're not invited!"

He turned to her, nostrils flaring. "How dare you refer to me as that term!" he bellowed right back, straightening his back. "I am Alexander Windsor, heir to the throne of the United Kingdom Common—"

Chiara snorted and tossed her drink at him.

The liquid splashed against his suit with an accompanied yelp from Alex, seeping into his woolly jumper and trousers. The smell arose in an instant, something fruity and balmy – citrus and saccharine cherry.

She glared at him. "That's for the Bonfire Ball, when you threw your drink at Prince Roy!" Her voice carried across the room. "That's right, we saw! And we don't forgive!"

Alex clamped his mouth shut, but his cheeks bloated the most furious scarlet Roy had ever seen, and it took him a serious amount of willpower to stop bursting out with laughter.

Alex's hands clenched to fists, and his arms shook. "How— How _dare_ —" he began, but cut himself off. "You will regret this!"

He shot a pure look of loathing Roy's way, before spinning on his heel and marching out of the ballroom with as much dignity as he had left. The drink dribbled from the hem of his jacket, leaving a trail of droplets in his wake. Roy released his tension, that same throaty sound of raw laughter exploding from him in a fit of giggles.

Chiara grinned and dusted herself off. "What an _idiota_." Then, her laser gaze zeroed on Roy, and she slapped his arm. "Don't think you're off the hook, though! A party is something only an _idiota_ would have!"

It wasn't meant to hurt, the slap to his arm – but he yelped anyway between the laughs. "I'm sorry, but _his face_ —" He laughed again. "So worth it."

Chiara cracked a grin then, allowing giggles to slip by her. Other girls who had been watching, like Skye and Avianna, hooted with laughter, swept up by the moment. Roy would never forget that face of Alex's. So long as he lived. Revenge was spicy, and served by Chiara Romani-Carriedo.

"Thanks, Chiara," he said, with a grin. "Always willing to do what no one else will."

She snorted. "Someone had to slap him from the dream world he was in."

He turned, nearly bumping into Ferelith. She flinched, but she stood so close, so strategically in the way, that it appeared she was standing there for a reason. Her pastel pink dress, that kissed her knees in gentle waves, was nearly devoured by the darkness of the room. Her hair had been styled down with tucking plaits, and white flowers bloomed from the strands. Her appearance was opposite entirely to Ambrosia's strong presence, despite their similar shyness, but yet still a new perspective on an ethereal goddess.

Ferelith wrung her hands together. "Y-Your Highness," she greeted.

He felt a yearning sensation trickle over him, and the desire to sweep her into his arms along with it. "Lady Ferelith. You look beautiful, as always."

A flush crept onto her cheeks. "T-Thank you. Erm…" It was hard to hear her over the music. "I… I was wondering… if you'd like to dance…?"

His interest piqued. He'd never taken Ferelith as someone who would go out of her way to ask. With no drink in her hand, Roy couldn't figure out whether it was heat of the moment, or drink coursing through her skin, that gave her such a boost of confidence.

A bouncy song captivated the speakers, and Roy offered his arm. "I'd be so honoured to dance that I might fall flat on my face."

She let out a giggle, looping her arm with his, and they melted onto the dance floor. Unlike his dance with Lilly, where they had been mostly separated, Roy and Ferelith clung to one another, and he gently spun her across the floor like a petal in the wind. He wasn't exactly on time – and he could have sworn he stepped on her foot at one point – but Ferelith was smiling, so he was happy to dance, too.

"O-Oh," she said, suddenly – his hands were on her waist, hers braced against his chest. "Y-You also look handsome today. I… forgot to say that earlier. Sorry."

Pleasure brimmed through him, pulsating through his heart, and he winked. "No need to be sorry. I do adore a delayed compliment."

She might have giggled, but it was consumed by the music. And when the song ended, so to, did their dancing slow to a stop. Ferelith's blush had never truly disappeared, but it seemed to shine from her face as she stepped away and focused on the parquet flooring again.

"Yo, yo, yo!" said a voice – the DJ. His bright blue hair swished as he moved. "I wanna' throw a shout out to my boy, Prince Roy, for the sick party he's dishing!"

Roy didn't even know who this man was. Rocket – or was it Skull?

"Your dancing is top quality, my man, my ladies," the DJ continued, scratching some of his records. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Then, realisation slapped Roy.

The _twerk-off_.

He still owed Maeve a twerk-off, promised so long ago, at their first meeting.

Confidence roared through him as the alcohol settled. He bowed his head towards Ferelith – who shied a curtsy – and sauntered up to the microphone on stage.

"Hello, ladies, friends." His eyes pranced over every person in the room – his Selected, the other party-goers he hadn't bothered speaking too, the dancers, the bartenders. "Prince Roy is here – and I completely, totally forgot about something that needs to be done. Like, it _really_ needs to be done. _Or else the world will end_ , kind of need."

A pall of seriousness, of anticipation, descended on the room. Roy quickly counted the Selected again, and along with Ambrosia, those vital three girls were missing. Where had they gone?

The question slipped out of his grasp as he refocused on the task – clashing his gaze with Maeve; it was hard to miss her mass of curls. He pointed at her dramatically. "I believe I owe a _twerk-off_ to Lady Maeve Reynolds!"

Gasps flittered amongst the Selected, as if they'd all forgotten too, and remembering had been just as shocking. A round of challenging _oohs_ followed. Maeve's laugh flowed above them all, and she pointed right back.

"I'd nearly forgotten," she said. "If it's a challenge you want, Your Royalness, it's a challenge you'll get!"

Roy's laugh thundered from the speakers. "Then it's settled." His mind raced too fast for his tongue. "But let's make this interesting. How about we add a bet?"

A tense, charged silence.

"What do you suggest?" Maeve yelled, lifting an eyebrow.

"If _I_ win the popular vote, _you_ …"

He roved his eyes over her, thinking of some form of punishment, some way to make this the most intense dance-off to ever occur – and he settled on her hair. The frizz had died over the night, but there was still enough curl to make it look like an explosion.

He grinned wickedly. "You have to cut your hair short."

"Ooh!" screeched the eager crowd – Roy could definitely discern Skye and Avianna's voices.

Maeve instinctively wrapped a lock around her finger, but her grin was equal in wickedness. "Oh, I'm attached to my hair – literally and figuratively. Good thing I don't have to worry about cutting it because I _won't_ _lose_."

"Big words," Roy taunted. "Care to prove them?"

"Only if," Maeve paused, soaking in the tension, " _you_ agree that, if _you_ lose, you cut _your_ hair short."

Thick gasps ruptured the crowd, all staring at Roy with desperate eyes.

Likewise, Roy was also fond of his hair. He could feel it, slicked with sweat, in a ponytail over his back. Personally, he always thought he looked better with long hair…

But he wasn't about to refuse the challenge, the defiance in Maeve's eyes.

"Deal."

The crowd boomed with cheer.

Skye bellowed. " _Twerk-off! Twerk-off!"_ and the crowd began to chant along.

Roy descended the stage with a swagger in his step. Now he had a true reason, and stakes apart from his dignity, _not_ to lose. His hair bounced on his back like a river of ink, and it occurred to him, that if he did lose the twerk-off, so to would he lose a trait he was so infamous for. His long hair had been a part of him ever since he'd decided to grow it out: tabloids focused on it for months.

The tabloids would rave if he cut his hair.

But today would not be that day.

Maeve was way taller than Roy, so when he stepped up to her to give a challenging glare, and an extended hand to show good will, he had to lift his head. There was an intimidating, excited glower right back at him. Maeve did not let down.

"Good luck," she said.

Their hands clashed. Her palms were sweaty, but her hold was strong. She was a worthy opponent.

"Likewise," said Roy.

Skye skidded onto the floor. Her dress fluttered out behind her as she splayed her arms dramatically, a stolen microphone in one of her hands. "We are here to witness the greatest battle to ever occur in the century of the palace: the fight for dignity, the fight for class, and, most importantly, the fight to keep their hair. Guys, gals, and pals, it's time for…" she paused, "the _twerk-off!"_

The crowd gathered in a circle around the competitors, leaving enough space to go wild with dance moves. Cheers erupted from them. Avianna bounced on the spot, pumping her fist. Ferelith had turned deathly pale, a ghost amongst her peers. Levinia yelled things, but Roy couldn't discern them, and Chiara stomped her feet furiously as if trying to create her own stampede.

Skye's skills as announcer came to light, as she frolicked across the circle with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "It's time to see who can twerk, and who's the jerk with too much faith in their dancing skills." She pointed at Roy. "Show us what you have! Give us a beat, DJ!"

DJ Skull obliged, and a hip-hop tune Roy didn't recognise blasted through the speakers.

He bobbed his head until the tune enraptured him. He grabbed Regina's drink, downed it, and handed the glass back to her. Time to shine.

Time seemed to blur. He squatted and moved his hips, letting the music flow through him like liquid fire. The crowd roared, and lights and colour blurred around him. He threw his arms to the ground and twerked towards the ceiling, towards his audience for variety. Roy had no idea how he was doing, but the crowd egged him on, drinking his wonderful and terrible dancing.

He shook his butt like he'd never shook it before.

The music stopped, and roars and cheers erupted. Roy stood upright, flashing a grin, pushing down the fatigue grappling him and odd clenching of his stomach.

"Epic!" Avianna yelled.

"Excellent work, Your Highness!" screamed Regina.

Even Eulalia was shouting and signing all at once, next to Lilly, whose eyes had grown to the size of golf balls in awe-married-horror.

"That was Prince Roy, everyone!" Skye said, pointing at him. "The first time you can ever say a prince has twerked!"

Roy soaked in their praise, bowing with hand twirls in each direction.

"But will it," Skye continued, her breaths hot against the microphone, "be enough to destroy Maeve Reynolds?!"

Maeve had crossed her arms, watching with a guilty smile.

"Not bad, Your Highness. Not bad, at all. You did better than I expected." She stole one step in her giant heels – one step, enough to shoot a clamber of that intimidation down his spine, and a shot of worry for his hair. "But I'm afraid it won't be enough!"

"It's time!" Skye said. "Show us your moves, Maeve!"

Maeve gave him one last, pitiful look before she began to twerk.

It was magnificent.

She moved with such excellence. Each thrust of her hips in time to the beat was co-ordinated with a swing of her explosive hair, adding to the radiance of her performance. She stomped her feet, twisted her body with such finesse and elegance, and the crowd consumed it.

Amongst the competition gliding through Roy, did that worry spike.

Maeve was damn good at twerking.

And when the music stopped, Maeve rose and bowed, and the crowd went wild.

"And that has been the twerk-off!" Skye said, easing the crowd. "And it's time… to vote!" She gestured to Roy. "Who thinks our prince's prancing was up to par?!"

The roar was so loud, it could have destroyed the walls of the ballroom. Roy grinned. No loss for him, today.

Skye gestured to Maeve. "And what about our leading lady? Who thinks Maeve's skills soared?!"

But the roar for Maeve topped his – strong enough, surely, to destroy the walls of the palace. It could have found Alex and Barney, in whatever hole they were skulking in.

 _Oh, god_ , Roy thought to himself – his sober voice shattering through his drunken conscience. _My hair_ … _!_

Skye threw out her arms in Maeve's direction. "The people have spoken! The winner of the twerk-off is… Maeve Reynolds!"

Maeve jumped in the air, pumping her fist. "Yahoooooo!"

"Which means…" an evil glint caught Skye's eye, "that Prince Roy has to get a haircut!" She began to chant, " _Haircut! Haircut!"_

The crowd echoed, " _Haircut! Haircut!"_ like hive mind.

Someone pulled a chair from the side tables and threw it into the empty circle, and Maeve gestured to the chair with a gleaming, satisfied grin.

He stuffed his rational voice away. "A deal is a deal."

The loss punctured him, but he didn't let it show as he sat down. From somewhere else, Roy spotted the silver sparkle of a pair of scissors.

" _Haircut! Haircut!"_ the crowd yelled.

"Shall I cut his hair?" Maeve asked.

The crowd roared with delight.

" _Shall I?"_ Maeve teased.

The crowd demanded the deal be seen through to the end.

She quickly leant down, and Roy could feel her breath on his ear. "Are you sure?"

The rational part of him whizzed back and bubbled with delight. She'd asked. Even with all this pressure, all this command from the people, Maeve was still willing to make sure he was okay with it.

Again, he punched that voice away. "I'm okay with it, don't worry." Then, he grinned with a dismissive flicker and said, louder for the crowd to hear, "Do your worst, Lady Maeve."

He didn't see it, but he heard the sharp, cold _snip_ – and the release of weight on the back of his head. He heard the endless gasps, laughter, and satisfaction of the cheering crowd, and he heard Maeve, excited, brandishing the win.

 _My hair_ , the rational voice in him squeaked. _You're so gonna' regret this in the morning_.

But he was too far gone to care. About his hair. His duties. Anything.

Jittery and frenzied, he ran a hand over the back of his head.

Short, spiked hairs greeted him, weaving between his fingers like tufts of spring grass, freshly cut. It was such a shock to his hands, the new texture, that he flinched as he continued to run his hand up and down his head, until he copied with his other. It was an uneven chop, and his hair at the sides was longer than the other, but still stark.

He stood up, nearly piling onto the chair, and stumbled to the bar, his hands still locked in this new, foreign hairstyle. The bartender concocted another beverage for him, and he drank hungrily, not caring that he was downing too fast.

And then another hand, warm and slender, swept through his new hair.

"It suits you," said Riley, nearly whispering. "Needs to be neatened up."

He turned to face her. Her halter-neck top was veined with blue and red, and her skirt flowed down her figure like milk and honey, silky and smooth. She hadn't removed his hand, and his gut stirred with longing – the same longing that he'd experienced with Ambrosia.

He grinned guiltily. "I thought I looked hot whatever my hair looked like?"

"Mmm. Don't get cocky," she slurred. She'd obviously been drinking, too.

He stood up, inches taller than her, and pressed her hand to his head to keep her from taking it back, locking her warmth with her. "Too late."

Desire pillaging his other thoughts, feelings, emotions, he leant down to kiss her on the lips.

Riley didn't flinch, melting into the kiss as easily as he had, and somehow, their arms found one another – Roy's, around her waist, Riley's, around his shoulders. They stumbled to the wall and kissed, breath and heat clashing and mixing. The music pounded through his skin, his lungs, and his heart throbbed faster and faster than the beat.

Memories flooded back to him, and he realised how badly he'd yearned for attention like this – the contact, the passion. It was the best way to find another world, another universe, where it was just him and a woman. Together.

Riley broke off, biting her lower lip. "We should take this somewhere more… private…"

"Don't have to tell me twice," he mumbled into her cheeks, peppering her feverishly hot skin with wet kisses.

She dragged him out by collar, and Roy followed willingly. The light from the chandeliers burnt, but he shut his eyes, being dragged by Riley to a more secluded corridor to make out against the wall.

Riley pulled him close, squishing their bodies together. "I've missed this," she said, clawing the back of Roy's neck to remove any gap between them, plastering her lips onto his once more.

Blood roared in Roy's ears, and his grip on her waist tightened. He broke off for a moment, and her taste lingered in his mouth. "Same." Smirk. "You're a lot better at kissing than I remember."

She cocked a coy smile. "I seem to recall teaching _you_ how to make out."

"I seem to recall you not getting enough of me."

A barked laugh. Riley fiddled with Roy's hair and spoke in a low voice, charged with flirtatiousness. "Well, you're not wrong there…"

He still remembered those days on the tour bus, when she'd wanted to go further, and he hadn't. He could feel the desire tearing through him now, and the idle thought of them creeping back to his or her bedroom teasing him, but if there was one thing that rational vestige of Roy could do, it was grant him willpower.

Then, he felt his stomach twist. Ignoring it, he focused on Riley. Smoking hot Riley, who was as desperate to savour him as much as he wanted to savour her.

He gently pinned her hands to the wall and captured her lips again. Riley lifted onto her tiptoes, embracing him, his tongue, with eagerness. Two souls, melding to become one, for just a flicker in time.

Footsteps behind wrenched Roy off her, and he turned.

Persephone froze – her heels curved around her toes, and her hands were suspended in midair, as if she had been trying to creep away as swiftly and silently as possible. Her dress looked like a night sky, doused in navy and sparkle.

She straightened immediately and waved. "Oh, no, you two go back to… that." A flash of hurt crossed her. "I was just… going to the bathroom."

Before Roy could respond, she hightailed it down the corridor.

Roy watched her figure disappear behind the corner. There was _definitely_ a nearer ladies room, so why was she down here…? He peeled himself from Riley – she let out a tiny whimper at the cold, at the lost moment – and he glanced down the corridors.

His stomach lurched again, and turmoil began to brew within him. Like a rising sea of lava, brushing his insides, threatening.

Roy drove it down, and he faced Riley. "Okay, four of you have left the party since it began. I counted. Where is everyone going?"

Riley paled, and she broke eye contact for the first time tonight – instead, sweeping her skirt down from the wrinkles Roy's wandering hands had created. "I… er…"

Slight anger bubbled in his blood. "You're not telling me something."

Riley pried a wry smile, but she still didn't look at him. "I'm a private person, when it comes down to it, Roy."

Paranoia and anger and worry flushed out his lust. "It's not funny. Where are they all going?"

That churning yanked within him, and he recognised it – _nausea_.

He'd drank too fast, danced too quickly.

Grounding his teeth together, he sprinted after Persephone.

Riley called out, "Roy! Wait!" but he didn't stop, swerving around the corner.

They couldn't all be spies, right?

Persephone had slowed to a walk, thankfully, and she just disappeared around another corner. Roy forced his leaden feet into motion, ignoring the sudden dryness of his mouth. He banked around the corner, coming into the Women's Room hallway – the door was propped open, and Persephone walked in, the attendants were nowhere to be seen.

Noise and music wafted in soft cadence from the room as he neared. Cheery, vibrant pop beats and musical numbers, unlike the low rumble of the party music. Roy slowed, and when he reached the doors, the cosy, warm light like a sunset's glow spilling onto the carpet, he marched around the corner.

The white furniture had been pushed back into a rough semi-circle shape, the wide spaces decorated with thick, lush duvets, polka dot pillows, and plump beanbags. There were stacks of magazines and old books, and a fire roared in the mantelpiece, its warmth bleeding into the room.

And there was Elise, Alisa, Delia and Persephone. Elise and Alisa had changed into their pyjamas – Elise in a white nightdress, patterned with pink flowers, and Alisa in a white t-shirt and matching shorts with a Dachshund dog pattern. They removed the silver cloches from trays of finger sandwiches and miniature tarts on the coffee table. Delia was fluffing the pillows.

And then, just behind the sofas – _Katrina_.

Raking through his memory, he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before; he hadn't seen Katrina at _all_ at his party tonight. And she didn't appear to have made any effort, either, as her face was stripped of make-up, and her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, covering the straps of her satin crop top. She had a giant bag of marshmallows in one hand, and a fire poker in the other.

She froze – utterly froze – when she spotted Roy at the door. Elise, Delia and Alisa shot up to stand, and Persephone twirled around – all, taking that same shock, same undercurrent of fear.

The sleepover. They were still having the sleepover.

The one he wasn't invited to. The one he wasn't even told about.

Fracture turned to fissure within him. It wasn't even the sleepover, the fun, the laughs, that he would miss – it was just that the Selected girls seemed to be in their own world. Their complete independence from him these last few days tore a hole in his heart so large it could breathe.

Persephone's eyes widened to saucer shapes. "You… followed me…?"

Katrina immediately crossed her arms, somehow managed with all the baggage in her hands. "You had a _haircut_?"

Riley nearly crashed into Roy from behind, and when he turned to her, searching for answers in her eyes, she blanched nearly as pale as her skirt.

"We…" she trailed off, before mustering courage. "We were going to sleep in here tonight, all of us. After your party. I know you asked Katrina to cancel."

Roy could feel that anger bubbling, roiling within him – though he knew it was misplaced, and undeserved. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"You didn't seem to want to be interrupted," muttered Katrina. "And I tried finding your ginger valet-butler man, but he wasn't around to pass the message. So I didn't."

Riley and Persephone frowned, and Persephone said, "I haven't seen Rudy in a while, come to think of it."

Rage and hurt married within him, and he could feel it, rushing in his skin. To clasp some semblance of his power, his authority, back, which was crumbling beneath him, he said hoarsely, "I fired him yesterday."

Silence dragged on. Roy didn't look up, but he didn't need to – Riley stood in front of him and stomped her toes.

"You did _what?"_ she hissed. "Why the hell would you _fire_ _Rudy?"_

He bore his teeth, and his stomach thrashed inside him. "Because he was being an asshole. That's why."

Katrina barked a cackle. "Oh, like how you were an asshole to _me_ , earlier today?"

Roy tried not to let the insult twist through his gut, but it writhed like a snake feeding on prey. He clenched his fists. "You don't get to question my decisions."

Alarm slapped Riley on the face, and she flinched – a very different face to the one she pulled mere minutes ago in the corridor. "Rudy is a cynic, but not an _asshole_. I can't…" She crossed her arms and drew a long breath, the prospect still shivering through her with no way in. "I can't believe you'd do that. He's only ever had your interests at heart. If he was being blunt with you, it's probably because there was a problem with _you_ , not him."

Roy turned to her, voice cracking. "The problem— the problem was _him_ , not me." He threw out his arms. "We're not _talking_ about Rudy, here. We're talking about the fact that I told you to cancel your slumber party and you _didn't_. You're undermining my authority."

Persephone, too, looked like she'd taken a punch to the gut. Roy knew about her friendship with Rudy – an unusual mixture of happenstance and funny coincidence. She stepped towards, not away, from Roy. "You're stressed. That's what Rudy told me."

"I'm _fine_ ," Roy pressed.

"Are you sure?" Elise squeaked from behind, clutching her hands. "You were really… off, in that maze. You know, we can help you…"

 _Elise_. Roy had followed her, and lost her in the labyrinth of hallways… but she'd travelled the complete opposite direction to the Women's Room. _Bathroom_ , his ass. Where had she been going? Setting up for this sleepover? Seeking her rebel superiors? He couldn't even focus on that, or the spy, now, his brain kindling into ember.

" _I am fine_ ," he snapped. "I am _fine_ , and I wish people would stop _asking_ —"

"This isn't about the damn sleepover, Fitzroy, and you know it," Katrina cut across.

Wrath and rage and agony collided into one being, one feeling, within him. Tightening his muscles, seizing his organs – the churning of his stomach coming to head. He faced her, glaring, missing the swish of his hair. " _Damn_ _it_ , _I—_ " he felt his voice break, but he started again. _"I am fine!"_

Ignoring him, Katrina spoke in a low voice this time, with a whisper of tenderness. "You can't handle the pressure."

 _The pressure._

In time, his title would transform from _Prince_ into _King_. _King Roy Schreave_. His parents would be gone, and the world would turn to him. _Wild, irresponsible_ him.

 _Illéa will destroy itself under your rule!_

Their needing stares, there admiration, their hope – it shattered within him. His heart became a wild sea, stormy and unyielding with no master but itself, and suddenly, when that fissure broke the final piece within him, he pivoted on his heel, staggered to the nearest ornamental vase and vomited inside.

And when he'd heaved out every last drop of alcohol, and the nearest guards had helped him back to his room, the tears stained his cheeks more than the vomit on his tongue, and his sobs could fragment the glass of his windows.

* * *

 **A/N:** Poor Roy... is it time to face the music? Not the most pleasant chapter I've ever written, but certainly the most emotional. Wild ride, this one was... and the twerking scene, omfg! XD I have had this party planned since the twerk-off's conception in Maeve's intro chapter, so it's nice to finally see it come to fruition, and I hope you enjoyed it!

Would just like to mark a milestone: this story has overtaken my giant Harry Potter/ Percy Jackson crossover, When Wand and Sword Collide, in number of words. It's crazy, because I never thought I'd attempt a large fanfic ever again, but I'm proud I have, and I'm proud it's this fandom I'm writing for. You're all so lovely, and the community is so fun. Big thanks to everyone for your continued support and encouragement!

And now for some bad news: I don't think I'll be able to update next week. Apologies, everyone, but uni is literally sucking my life away, and I haven't even started writing next chapter, lol. I think you have enough here to stomach for the time being, and I might update Select Few, so we'll see. I will most likely have something for you in two weeks, though. You can check my Pinterest for sneak peaks ;) _Greenwithawesom_ is my username!

So, what did you think of everyone? Where did Elise go? Maeve's dancing? Roy's new haircut? Drunk Ambrosia? Chiara throwing her drink at Alex? Roy and Riley? Sooo many things to talk about, lol. Reviews much loved, and favourites and follows also deserving of infinite hugs!

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA


	30. Aim for Bullseye

White daylight reached inside the cracks of the curtains, crawling across the carpet of Roy's bedroom. Discarded piles of clothes lay waste on the armoires, the desk, and the divan, freckling the blue furniture with black and sparkle. The canopy was drawn, but caught in places, leaving patches of triangular light on the posts.

With the duvet sprawled half on the bed, half off, the breeze tickled Roy's legs. But Roy didn't shiver. A headache throbbed through him, dulling his other senses. He recoiled, as his sleepy, broken trance tore from him fully, and folded his legs to his chest. The lingering scent of vomit wafted around him, and he couldn't tell whether it was from the bathroom – the door flung open – or himself.

Yep. He was hungover.

He shut his eyes, pushing away the major _déjà vu_ coursing through him.

Unlike the last time he had been so sick that he'd plastered someone's shoes, he could remember everything that had happened the past few days with fine detail, embroidered into his memory like thin, black thread.

He'd yelled at his Selected girls. He'd fired Rudy. He hadn't seen Gail in the last few days, and he'd pissed off his cousins more than usual.

He'd pissed off everyone.

And a few words had all it been taken to break him down, to give up at the final hurdle.

 _You can't handle the pressure_.

He buried his head into his knees as a lump formed in his throat. When the guards had taken back to his room, he'd refused service or help, glued himself to the toilet bowl until he was sure he wouldn't regurgitate anything else, and spent the rest of the night sobbing until his eyes could produce no more tears, and sleep consumed him.

Katrina was right, and he hated knowing she was right. He couldn't handle his duties of being a prince – of being Prince Regent, let alone the idea of becoming king. He couldn't handle knowing that someone, somewhere in this prison of a palace, a spy waited for his missteps to become his doom. And he couldn't handle his reputation, anymore, even though he'd tried so hard to embrace it, let it become part of him.

Wild, irresponsible and childish Prince Roy. Now just a mess of a man under the covers.

He just couldn't take any more pressure.

The darkness swirled around him, and the heat trapped underneath his duvet forced sweat to his pores. Hot breaths curled from his lips, and he closed his eyes again, desperately hoping his feeble body could manage more sleep.

But a quiet knock peeled his attention back to the waking world.

He choked out, "Go away," partly hoping Rudy had returned to help him back to his feet, to reinvigorate him.

The other part of him truly did want whomever it was to go away.

But the person – a man, by the gruffness of his voice. "I have something that belongs to you, _sir_."

Roy's eyes popped open. Officer Durante.

And he sounded _pissed_ _off_.

He'd completely forgotten that Durante had the day off from his duties yesterday, replacing him temporarily with a faceless guard by his door. He'd totally forgotten Durante knew nothing about the party, the sickness.

The firing.

Roy withheld another shudder. He'd seen Durante protective and disappointed in himself. He'd seen Durante sweet and flirty. He dreaded to see Durante when he was angry.

Knowing Durante would stand outside his door all day, Roy freed his head from the comfort of his duvet and croaked. "Open the door, but don't come in."

Durante opened the door. Beams of sunlight buried into Roy's eyes, and he squinted to see. Shadows crossed Durante's face, and his eyes flashed like tumultuous green storm clouds. The light silhouetted his figure almost like an angel of death, come to sweep him away from the mortal realm.

"Your Highness," he grated out in greeting – but he didn't bow or even nod his head.

"What…" Roy mumbled, "what do you have that belongs to me?"

Durante lifted his arm, brandishing something long, sharp and black tucked between his fingers. A navy band had been wrapped around the top. A swathe of hair.

"Your ponytail."

The memory of Roy's spontaneous haircut flooded back into his mind, and his hands shot to the back of his head. Indeed, stubbed prickles of black hair greeted him, grazing against his skin and still soaked with sweat.

"I retrieved it," Durante continued, his voice low and dangerous, "from the remnants of the Great Ballroom, Your Highness. I wondered if you wanted to _keep_ it."

He stared longingly at his ponytail, wishing he had some magical remedy that could attach it back to his head. Drunken Roy might've been okay with that stupid haircut, but Sober, Hungover Roy certainly wasn't. It was part of his image, carefully cultivated over the years.

Then again, that image was on a long and hard plummet to hell right now.

A chill skittered down Roy's spine, and he tucked his hands back into the duvet. He felt like one wrong word could trigger the turmoil plain on Durante's tensed, taut face.

"I— I don't want it."

This only seemed to infuriate Durante more, and he regarded Roy coldly. "Of course, Your Highness."

Without waiting for confirmation, he strode to Roy's wastebin and dropped the ponytail inside.

Part of Roy cracked, as if he were going through that terrible haircut, that terrible party, all over again. No doubt, if Rudy had been here, he'd have stopped all of this business from happening.

He had tried to, but Roy hadn't listened.

He propped himself on his elbows, knowing he should say something. Anything.

"Look, Durante… about the last few days—"

Durante froze at the door, looking to leave. But he said, "There is nothing you should say to _me_."

Without another word, he left the room and shut the door.

Roy sank back into his bed, staring at the blue frills of the canopy so hard that the swirls began to sluice like water. Part of him wished it was water, and he could soak for days until his skin was shrivelled.

He'd messed up. Big time.

Roy shut his eyes again. He'd messed up, so badly, so awfully, that he wasn't even sure there was a person in this palace that wasn't filled with some sort of discontent for him. And when his mother and father inevitably found out about everything – shirking his duties, partying, firing people with no regard for anything, they'd blow their tops.

But it wasn't too late. Roy knew that if Ji-Yu found out about his latest indiscretions, she'd have called home via webcam already. Shenanigans like his were child's play in comparison to the threat of nuclear war, after all. She didn't know.

Someone would tell her soon, though. One of the advisors, no doubt. Probably Gemima. And then he'd have another pile of dung on his plate to worry about.

After what seemed like hours, folding and kneading these thoughts in his head, soft, curt knock interrupted his solitude.

Roy rolled over to his side. "You've made your point clear, Durante," he called.

Pause. "I am not Durante, Your Highness."

Gemima Chi.

She rarely visited him – in fact, he only recalled her knocking on his door to encourage him to sign the waiting trade agreements with Leeza. He never saw her stray from her work, never saw her stray from her office, or Ji-Yu's side.

He pinned the door with a glare and said, "How can I help you?"

"May I come in?"

He definitely didn't want Gemima snooping around his bedroom, his most personal space. Still, whatever she wanted had to be urgent enough if she came all the way down here, in the morning. Sighing, Roy said, "Hold on," as he dragged himself from the covers – the cold battled his sensitive skin, and he threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt for decency. "Okay. Come in."

Gemima swung open the door, her hand balled over the knob. She looked as professional as usual: the tweed suit dress as brown and patterned as a cluster of wilting flowers, and she carried a small briefcase in her other hand – made of solid metal. Not a strand of her black hair fluttered free of her ponytail.

"Ah. Good morning." She wrinkled her nose, and her eyes lingered on his hair. "Is that a new haircut?"

Roy ignored the question. "What do I have to sign?"

Instead of producing papers, Gemima smiled quaintly – the first time Roy had ever seen something so whimsical from her. "Nothing." She shut the door behind her. "I thought, perhaps… you would like to talk."

 _Talk_. That was even worse than signing stuff. He scowled. "About?"

She inhaled a breath. "Your current… predicament, if I can use the word."

So now Gemima Chi, the most stoic advisor in the royal court, wanted to have a chat about his stupid life choices? He rolled his eyes and went to busy his hands – which ended up making his bed, which he so longed to jump back into. "If you're here to tell me how much I suck at this job, get it over with. Not like you'll be the first today."

The words seemed to soften her, snagging her smile into a frown. She inclined her head. "I'm not here to do that. I _am_ here to…" she trailed off, her eyes flicking upwards as if searching for the right words, "to show you something."

"What?" Roy said.

Gemima gestured to the hallway. "Come with me, and you'll see."

He grumbled again, but didn't complain. Fine. He would go soul-searching with Advisor Chi, if only to get it over with. Roy quickly brushed his teeth and attempted to comb his new hair, the sides of which brushed his neck, before meeting her in the hallway. Like an assassin, Durante was silent as he followed behind them, though his presence only made Roy more uneasy.

They descended several staircases until they reached the guard barracks, deep within the underbelly of the palace. Roy had hardly been down here: the corridors were plain of decoration, dark, but tall and spacy. Guards and trainee guards alike flittered between them, all respectfully bowing Roy's way as he trudged behind Gemima.

"Why are we here?" he asked. "Is there security footage of me embarrassing myself that you want to show everyone?"

"No," was all Gemima said. They ambled passed the security control centres and dormitories – no doubt, Durante was acutely familiar of where they were – before Gemima turned down a further corridor.

He could hear something then. Gunshots. Thunderous, loud booms that rang against his ears. At a guard station, they were given foamy earplugs and plastic eyewear to put on, before being allowed to continue through.

Gemima opened a heavy metal door with ease, and Roy stepped out into an underground shooting range.

Each station was petitioned with sheets of brick, and concrete counters that separated the shooters from the range. The range itself stretched back five, ten, and fifty metres, with a pink target plastered onto wooden boards at the end of each. A heavy scent of metal wiped Roy's senses clean.

The guards inside respectfully bowed once more, before dismissing themselves from the room. Roy was left alone with Gemima, Durante, and a guard stationed to watch the range.

He snorted, yanking out one earplug to hear. "Why are we at the shooting range?"

Gemima placed her metal briefcase onto the counter and unclicked the fastening. Neither documents nor papers were inside, but foam padding that held a handgun, black and sleek. She eased it out of its casing and weighed it with her hand.

"I thought today, we could do some shooting."

"At myself, or the targets?"

For the first time, Gemima narrowed her eyes. "Don't joke about things like that, Your Highness."

It was a misplaced joke, and he felt guilt ripple within him. "Sorry. That was wrong." He threw his arm out. "But why have you taken me here to shoot? That's not exactly going to solve anything, is it?"

She loaded the gun with cartridges from cardboard packs in her suitcase, slipping them inside with what could have been a practice hand. Almost as if she'd been trained to use it. She held the barrel and handed the gun to Roy.

"Try and hit the five-metre target."

Roy took the gun – it was heavier than he expected, and thicker and cold. He frowned. "I've never shot a gun before."

She gestured to the target anyway, knotting her hands behind her back in wait. Apparently, that didn't seem to put her off.

"All right," he said reluctantly, replacing his earplug and standing behind the concrete.

The target wasn't hard to miss with his eyes, white and pink against the cold earthy tones of the range. It was free from holes, unlike the targets in the ten- and fifty-metre lanes, which had been mutilated with bullet wounds. Roy knew at least enough about firearms to know that the safety was on, and clicked it off, before he clasped the grip with both hands and grazed his finger over the trigger.

 _Aim_ , said the voice in his head, but he knew his hand was unsteady. Without a scope, he had no idea if he would hit the target or not. Five metres was a lot further than he realised.

He squinted his eyes, hoping guesswork would see him through, and fired.

The recoil knocked him back, and he stumbled a few steps as the sound of the bullet echoed throughout the range. Roy stepped forwards again, leaning forwards.

"Did I hit it?"

"No," said Gemima – even with the earplugs in, he could hear the word. She stepped up and pointed, her gesture straying off the lane. "You aimed too far right."

A flicker of disappointment joined Roy's sour mood. "Oh."

"Try again."

He did. The bullet grazed the edge of the target paper, but not the target itself. At least, this time, he was prepared for the impact, the backswing, of the gun's recoil.

He huffed, latching the safety and handing the gun, barrel first, back to Gemima. "Why are we doing this?"

"This is the first time you've shot a gun, yes?" she clarified, taking the gun back.

Roy pulled out one of the earplugs, and adjusted his glasses. "Yeah. And I was terrible," he snorted.

"Exactly."

Roy froze. "Er… excuse me?"

Gemima reloaded cartridges into the gun, before unlatching the safety mechanism. "You were terrible shot, Your Highness, but this was your _first_ try at shooting a gun. You won't ever come close to hitting that target consistently until you've had practice." She glanced at him, her eyes sparkling. "Do you see?"

"All I'm seeing is that you're saying I'm a terrible shot."

"Think bigger, Your Highness," said Gemima. "No one can achieve perfection on their first attempt to do something. Likewise, on your first attempt to, say, _run a country_ ," she paused, "you will make mistakes."

Something twisted in his lungs, rendering him short of breath.

Gemima continued, aiming at the target with the gun, then withdrawing her arm. "You will make mistakes. You will fumble, stumble and fall at hurdles that seem too big for you to vault over. You will annoy a few people and then some." She glanced back at him with a wholesome smile. "But that is part of the learning process. You learn from your mistakes. You strengthen yourself by tackling challenges. You improve."

She swivelled to face the target, then – extending the gun – and fired.

The bullet pierced the bullseye of the target, straight through the middle.

Roy had to stop himself from letting his jaw drop, but couldn't hold back staring. "How—?" He inhaled. "When did you learn to shoot like _that_? You hardly took any time to aim!"

She faced him again, with that same smile. "Practice and patience." She glanced at the target. "Before I was an advisor, I was part of the Illéan military. A markswoman."

The _Illéan military_?!

"Handguns aren't my speciality," she continued, apparently ignorant of Roy's surprise. "A rifle would suit me more. But I've always been fond of a bit of light shooting."

Roy dreaded to see her with a rifle, if that display of perfect marksmanship wasn't her best. "Wait, hold on," Roy said, holding up his hands. "You were part of the Illéan military! Why are you doing an advisor job now?"

She shrugged. "The idea of war horrifies me. Using my ability to kill others. I'm lucky that I've only ever shot to maim, but not fatally injure. I've always pledged I would do so if necessary, if a life was at stake, but…" she trailed off that sentence. "In the end, I decided that helping to prevent conflict at the source was a more diplomatic approach to maintaining peace. And so, here I am."

He'd only ever seen Gemima as backdrop, distantly involved with his life. This put things, and her, into new perspective. Roy would never suspected the military. How much of her advice came from experience out in the front? Maybe she'd seen the rebel movements first hand?

"Military training takes several years, and even then, sometimes, you are not deemed good enough. It is gruelling work." She gestured to the range, but Roy figured she meant life at the palace. "Learning to become king is no different. Sometimes it's easy, sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's living life in luxury or burdening the needs of the country, and indeed, the world, on your shoulders." She gripped the handgun, and gave a confident smile. "But you won't be any good until you _try_."

His lungs twisted again, taking his gut and heart with it. It beat furiously, working through the conundrum she posed.

He wanted to argue that he _had_ been trying. That all of his efforts, until two evenings ago, were poured into making his country as best a place he could.

But Roy knew, in the deepest crevice of him, that it had been faux attempts. He'd only wanted the weeks to pass by. He hadn't truly concentrated in meetings, or tried to be diplomatic amongst his council, or properly read what he was signing to understand it.

The fact that he'd given up was testament that he'd given up.

Roy snapped his mouth shut, unable to look at Gemima in the eye. The heat of the room seemed to rise, but Roy knew that was just because he was sweating suddenly.

Gemima nodded in his peripheral vision. "Chew on that, for a few hours. A few days, if you must. Then, when you are prepared, make your apologies, and come back to work, rested and ready." Pause. "I won't tell your parents."

His head flew up to meet her gaze – genuine. "You're serious?"

Her smile turned crooked. "Well, I'm not sure I can keep the entire story from them. Hobbs' departure, they need to know about, and I can't keep promise for the other advisors, but… I can certainly keep some details to myself."

Words froze on his tongue just as relief washed through him. Eventually, he knew, he would have to tell his parents the truth, if they didn't find out by other means. Because he knew they were included in his endless list of apologies to make.

But, for now… he was spared Ji-Yu's wrath.

"Thank you," he croaked.

"Not at all," said Gemima. "I said I would be here if you needed me. You didn't seek me out though, but… have I helped?"

Roy had now a list of things to do, most, if not all, were apologies.

Time to correct his mistakes.

"Yes, it has," he said, allowing himself a smile. "Thanks, Advisor Chi."

She beamed. "Not at all, again," she said. She jerked her head to the door. "Now, off you go."

"You're not joining me back?"

She chuckled. "Might as well have some peace and quiet in the shooting range before the guards realise I've taken it for myself." She fiddled with her earplugs, and cocked the gun again. "Safe journeys, Your Highness."

The next three shots rang out, each piercing the bullseye perfectly.

Roy wanted to be that good. To strive for bullseye, each time.

He walked out of the shooting range and into the corridor knowing what he had to do.

Everything he had to do.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Barbara, the hairdresser, ran her oiled fingers through Roy's hair one last time, before standing back to examine her work. Roy sat at his vanity table in his bedroom, staring back at the unrecognisable figure with the wide, brown eyes, and the fresh, short hair.

Now, _neat_ , fresh, and short hair. Gone were the sideburns left from the awkward cut yesterday, tapered to give him an undercut – entirely different to his long ponytail. The draughts bristled against his skin and the air seemed cool around his ears, both entirely foreign feelings.

Barbara nodded firmly once, before meeting Roy's gaze in the mirror. "What do you think, Your Highness?"

Roy leant forwards, raking his scalp with his hands. Minimal gel added some bounce to the top part of his hair, and Moroccan oil slickened the sharp, black strands to encourage healthy growth.

He split into a grin. "Looks great. Thanks, Barbara."

She returned the grin. "Anytime for my favourite customer. New hair, new you, right?"

She packed away, and he smiled to himself. _New hair, new me indeed_.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, noting that it was nearly time for lunch. The Selected girls, Alex, Barney and Leeza would all be present, making it an opportune moment to make his apology to everyone before he found individuals for personal acts of contrition.

Once Barbara had cleared her things and left, Roy changed into his best suit – a maroon jacket with matching trousers and a white shirt. Staring in the mirror, he psyched himself up with steel and pretences before making his way towards the Great Hall.

The corridors were quiet, even with his footsteps and Durante's marching from behind pounding a drumbeat in time with his heart. Light pattered onto the carpet, illuminating the guards as they stood to attention when he passed. He nodded at them politely as they did to him, but his mind was set on lunch. The scents of fresh meat and bread ensconced him before he turned the corner to the entrance. The doors were shut, and chatter filtered through the crack.

The attendant at the door straightened as he neared.

"Your Highness," he greeted, and reached to open the door.

A spike of anxiety cut through Roy, and he shrilled, " _No_ ," just before the attendant could open the door.

The attendant froze. "Is… something the matter, Your Highness?"

He had no idea what to say.

Roy had nothing planned, no notes, not a winkle in his mind to suggest what he might say to everyone once their eyes panned to his direction. Drawing a blank to everything except a simple _I'm sorry_ , and he knew that wasn't good enough.

At this point, Roy knew that at one time, perhaps, he might've turned on his heel and returned to his room. Part of him still squirmed at the idea of admitting his mistakes when he'd strived his whole life never to make them.

But he'd come this far, accomplished so much. There were people he owed explanations to, whether he could stomach their disappointment or apprehension or not.

Perhaps not knowing what to say was a comfort rather than a hindrance.

His apology had to come from his heart.

No teleprompters. No fake smiles. Today, he would pledge his sincerest sorrows, and resolve to, from now on, try his best and make things right. To become the king his country deserved.

Even if he was terrified.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded to the attendant. "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about that. Please… open the door."

The attendant gave him a wary look, but obliged. Sunshine from the windows curled against him first – the curtains were pulled back, and white rays glittered against the U-shape table.

The seats were filled. He first saw Alex, Barney and Leeza on the right of the head of the U-shape, overlooking the rest of the diners.

The Selected girls occupied the rest of the U-shape, on either side of the prongs. With just seventeen left, empty chairs were pocketed amongst them, but they'd moved around to dine in groups. Their dresses and outfits today were a myriad of colours – pastel pinks and midnight blues, blinding whites and reds, subtle greens and yellows.

A heavy, thick silence fell as everyone came to realise who had opened the door. Roy's lungs twisted as if he'd been punched, and he struggled against the desire to wipe his sweating palms on his trousers.

Robotically, he marched up towards the platform, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

The silence was nearly unbearable.

Then, " _Roooooooy!"_

Gail's voice yanked Roy's attention to her. She and Lanna were amongst the others at the head of the table, and she stood on her chair, waving her cutlery wildly.

Lanna tugged on Gail's shoulder. "Princess, we don't _stand on our chairs_ in the palace."

Gail sat down, but her eyes were wide with excitement, and glued to Roy as if he might disappear should she look away. He reached her side of the table, and petted her head. The room was still silent.

"Hey, rascal," he susurrated.

She pouted. "Where have you been?" Her tone oddly mirrored Ji-Yu's. "I had to play dress-up without you! I needed the evil Prince Jun of the Mean Realms!"

A sudden, nervous chuckle blurted from him. "I think I embraced my _Prince of the Mean Realms_ identity way too seriously these past few weeks."

Gail cocked her head, not understanding. But this was bigger than her, now. He clasped his hands behind his back, and regarded everyone in the eye.

Alex was smirking, as usual, but Barney's lips formed a thin line, and his gaze pinned to Roy with a wan expression. Leeza, too, fixed her eyes upon him curiously, and Lanna kept her face sympathetic. He could nearly hear her encouragement.

The rest of the girls stared at him, too, with a mixture of expression. There was clear apprehension in Luna Bellini-Torres and Camilla Daugherty's eyes, and Persephone Cahill had clasped her hands together on the table tightly. Ferelith Riverly's gaze was solidly planted on the tablecloth in front of her. Elise Belmont and Lilly Carter had understanding frowns, whereas Levinia Lefray sat straighter in her chair, as if she didn't want to be there. The others, too, schooling their neutral expressions or staring elsewhere.

He noted that Ambrosia Nichols and Riley Aldaine were absent. Of course.

And then there was Katrina, sitting amongst them like part of the family. Her arms crossed over her chest and she glared at him with disdain, the only one challenging him with silent ferocity.

He didn't blame her, really.

The air on his tongue was stale.

"I…"

 _You won't be any good until you try._

"I've… made some mistakes, recently. I'm sure you're all aware."

He didn't dare look in Alex's direction, for fear he lose his nerve, and ploughed through.

"And by mistakes, I mean… I've torn ginormous wounds in friendships, insulted people, wasted my time and yours, and used and abused my title – both of my titles – in however way I saw fit. I… shifted blame onto others, and never took any responsibility for my own actions. Even when I was clearly in the wrong. Even when… even when I could _see_ I was clearly in the wrong."

The words tumbled out of him, and he brought his hands back to his front, fidgeting his fingers. Meeting anyone's gaze now had become a chore.

"I'm not perfect, and I don't pretend to be, but lately… lately, I've done such stupid, terrible things. Said things I can't take back. Done stuff that I regret. And I regret all of it – everything. The party. The attitude… my sour, _moody_ attitude. I don't ever regret my position, because I know… I know how lucky I am, and how much I take for granted, but now I know – now I know its weight, how difficult it is, and how seriously I should take it. How seriously I should _have_ taken it."

A soft snort elicited from Alex's direction, but Roy didn't give him the satisfaction of looking.

"Plain and simple, I've been a total, complete, and utter jerk. And… and…" the words seemed to refuse to come forth from his throat, but Roy pushed it out for all to see. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been insensitive, or callous, or irresponsible, or an ass—"

Lanna cut across him with a sharp cough, and he remembered that Gail was there too, gazing at him with wide, curious eyes. He cleared his throat. "A… er, big butt head."

Gail giggled, grinning. _Butt head_ could hardly be considered more formal than _asshole_ , but it had to do.

He gulped down the last of his fears, tiny specks in his mind, and continued. "I thought I had to do this alone, shoulder the responsibility of prince, heir, Selecter, and prince regent alone, but now I see…" He allowed himself a smile. "Now I see I always have help in all of you."

This time, when Alex snorted again, Roy glanced in his direction, before staring back at the people he cared about. "Well, _most_ of you."

A trickle of sadness crept through him. Of course, the knowledge of the _spy_ was going to burden him and him alone, but even now, he realised he had his mother, Advisor Chi, and Durante to confide in.

And Rudy.

Roy had to speak to Rudy, too.

He let this thought fuel him as he said, "So, from now on, I'm going to be better. _Do_ better. I may not be perfect, but I will always strive to keep you, and this country's, best interests at heart. Even if that means," he cast a glance at Leeza, "sitting in boring trade meetings, or…" To Barney. "Or forging a new path with foreign diplomats." Refocused on the girls. "Whatever it may be, I will make sure that I will be a worthy king, and, eventually… a worthy husband."

Heat crawled onto his cheeks, and he found himself eschewing the girls' gazes, again.

Regaining some semblance of himself, he straightened. "I only ask now that I may have your forgiveness, so that we can look to the future and improve, and move forwards. Only… forwards."

For now, he'd made his pledge, however moronic and embarrassing he'd made himself – however raw and vulnerable his insides felt, ready to melt into a pile of mush, or scamper under the tablecloth to shield him from their eager looks. If they couldn't take him now, they wouldn't even accept him at his worst.

Someone stood up. Roy's eyes darted to her. Skylar Davenport had shot up from her seat, equally as full of repent as Roy.

She lifted her arms.

And bright smile enveloped her, and she started to clap.

The girls – all of them – took the cues and came to stand, clapping him.

Soon Lanna and Gail had risen, too, and a round of cheers grouped with the applause. The same heat clutched Roy's skin and he could only manage a sheepish smile. For once, his snarky attitude and playful vanity had been locked up somewhere in his heart.

A solid, husky clap echoed above the rest. Alex was the only one not standing up – even _Barney_ had forgone their rivalry to show appreciation – and inclined his head over his shoulder in a bored fashion.

"How touching," he said. "Finally, Fitz realises what a fool he's been."

Barney's forehead creased and he shot his brother a look. "Please, Alexander. This really isn't the time."

Alex lips curled in a snarl, and he snapped right back, "Oh, _please_ tell me you're not buying any of this nonsense." He rose, and his chair scraped against the parquet platform. "I'll believe that you've _learnt from your mistakes_ once you've proved it."

A claw gripped Roy, but he shooed it away. "At least give me some _time_ , Alex. It's not even been a day."

"Oh, I know," said Alex.

He sauntered down the platform. The girls, Lanna, Gail and Leeza sat down again, as if they could anticipate a man's war brewing.

Alex came to stop by Roy, and crossed his arms. His voice was low. "You owe me an apology."

Roy was certain they both owed each other multiple apologies, but he resisted saying it. "Fine. I'm _sorry_." He couldn't help but adding, "Your turn."

Alex growled, " _Not_ about this. I mean yesterday, when I came to your… whatever that _shindig_ was, and I was _assaulted_."

Dread captured him. Oh, _god_.

Chiara Romani-Carriedo threw her drink at him.

He glanced swiftly in her direction, expecting her to have realised the same thing, and the dread to have overcome her – but her arms were crossed, and her face bunched in unapologetic anger. Strands of her bark brown hair had fluttered free from her bun like she had been in a recent fist fight. And won.

Alex pointed towards her. "This _girl_ — this _menace_ , _assaulted_ me at _your_ party."

Roy could already see fate twisting this in Alex's favour. "Her name is _Chiara_ ," he snapped.

"She lost the privilege to be called by her name when she infringed my personal space without my consent and breached my fundamental rights as a human being. I have _every_ mind to press charges against her as I see fit."

The words rattled down Roy's spine, and he couldn't even picture how the words made Chiara feel. "You wouldn't."

Stupid challenge.

Alex grinned. "I would. With multiple witnesses, she could be sentenced for between one to _twenty-five_ years, or I will sue her for every penny she is worth – which, judging by the look of her, is not much, but enough to satisfy me that justice has been thoroughly dealt."

Chiara growled – a low, throaty and guttural noise that sent a shot of panic down Roy.

But Alex continued, sneering. "Arguably, if I had stayed, she would have done worse than just tossed her beverage at me. Perhaps she would have slapped me, which is a crime by assault _and_ battery." He swivelled to face Roy again. "So, if you are now an _honourable_ man, you will have her removed from your Selection."

Roy couldn't stop his lungs clenching. _Remove_ her from his Selection.

He panned to Chiara, and she seemed – for the first time – to have the same expression. Shock.

"I'm being generous in that I will not press charges if she goes, but I shouldn't have to tell you the lengths with which I will go to if you refuse to co-operate with my reasonable demand," added Alex.

Reasonable _and_ demand _shouldn't be put in a sentence together_ , Roy thought warily. He imagined Chiara in a prison, much like the one that Iscariot had been thrown into. Orange jumpsuit and all. Her crime of pouring drink over someone seemed completely out of the league of murder, or treason, or abetting the rebels. He definitely didn't want her there, and he knew for definite that Chiara didn't, either.

He gazed at her nervously. Steel had forged in her glare, igniting like fiery hot flames. But she kept quiet.

Alex's shoulders had relaxed. "Make your decision, _Fitz_." He whispered so low, only he could hear, "And I hope she stays, just so I can have fun tearing her to pieces in court."

Roy faced Chiara once more, and she had deflated to a content amount. A confident grin snagged her mouth.

"Don't worry about me, Your Highness." She swept into a sudden curtsy. "It's been fun." She rose and glared at Roy suddenly. "You better take care of these girls, or I'll find you and hunt you down myself, got it?"

To see her so fired up and passionate, rather than cowering at Alex's threats… filled him with a hopeful sense of determination. "You got it." He lifted his head. "Then you, Chiara Romani-Carriedo, are _gracefully_ dismissed from my Selection."

" _Gracefully_ —?" Alex hissed, but he could nothing as the other Selected girls rose from their chairs again and clapped wildly – hooting, hollering, and banging their heeled shoes against the floor.

The attendants opened the door for Chiara, and she paused at the threshold, waiting for the calamity to die down, before she let out a short burst of a cackle, and brushed back her loose strands.

"You deserved it, for being an _idiota_."

Roy bit his tongue from laughing. He was glad knowing that her elimination had at least kept her fire burning. Same old Chiara.

She swaggered away with her head held high, and the rising cheers of the other Selected girls.

Roy turned to Alex. He was shuddering with anger, as if the fuse had been lit and he was about to explode.

"There you are. She's gone."

Alex's glower was dark and stormy. "You will regret this."

Roy whistled. "Calm down there, Draco Malfoy. I simply did as you asked. Eliminated her." He grinned. "I can take no responsibility for what she said after that."

Alex looked like he wanted to retaliate, but instead, he turned on his heel and down the platform. "Come, Barnabas," he snapped. "I think we shall take the rest of today's meals in our rooms."

Barney, who had been remarkably quiet during the whole affair, shoved one last helping of potato gratin into his mouth before following behind. His face: completely neutral. They disappeared into the corridor, and Roy could only hope Alex wouldn't bump into Chiara on the way out.

The chatter died down, and soon, Roy was left to stand on the platform. He sucked in a breath, and the air now tasted sweet and salty all at once. "Thank you, everyone, for your kindness. I won't let you down."

A hand pressed his back – Lanna. She smiled. "I have no doubt that you won't."

Now he had the monumental task of making personal apologies.

But he knew – if he could do this, expose himself and his flaws in front of crowds, he could do it in front of one person at a time.

He grinned at Lanna. "Thanks."

"Any time," she said, before fixing him with a stern look. "And I mean it – any time. You should have come to me, too."

"I know," he said.

He knew it, now, how lucky he was to have everyone.

Roy conjured a plan to enact before the day was up. He would find Ambrosia and Riley to make sure they were okay and offer his sorrows, rewrite his fate as the wild, irresponsible prince – at least, the face surface of it. And when the day was up, and whether or not the girls had accepted his apologies or not, he was going into Los Angeles to make one final beg for forgiveness.

Because the hole in his heart would not fill until he had his best friend back.

* * *

 **A/N:** Woo, finally getting your act together, Roy! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Yes, I'm back, after frightful exams, and provided all goes well, hopefully returning to my weekly schedule. Thanks so much for your patience, everyone, and I hope you all had a wonderful holiday!

Unfortunately we have to say goodbye to Chiara Romani-Carriedo, submitted by ToManyFandomsSoLittleTime! Thank you so much for her! Chiara has been a total blast to write, and she's probably one of my favourites girls just because of her temper, lol. Alas, that plus Alex is a recipe for disaster... A character to be well missed.

There's also a new poll on my profile. Genuine question: **do you continue to read a Selection SYOC fic when your character has been eliminated?** Sometimes I notice, on my fic and others, that submitters tend to drop off, and I never know if it's because of RL issues or loss of interest, or it it really is because their character is gone. If you could encourage other friends in the Selection SYOC domain to vote too, that'd be great, because I really am curious as to how everyone answers!

Please review, favourite, or follow, and thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: "I can live with them... even the underwear."


	31. Under Wear and Tear

The knock on Ambrosia Nichols' door echoed down the mute hallway, and Roy felt a tumble of nerves inside him knotting together.

The last time he'd seen Ambrosia – properly, one-to-one – she had kissed him in the hallway.

Well, that wasn't quite true. The last time he'd seen her, she was vomiting into the plant pots.

Knowing this would be the most awkward encounter of all the girls, Roy had decided to conquer it first. Still, now he wished he'd built some repertoire of apologies to support him, instead of diving into the deep end.

 _Kissing_ him, then _vomiting_. What on earth was he going to say?

 _More importantly_ , his mind chimed, _what on earth is_ she _going to say?_

The door cracked open, and the November light crawled across him with barren warmth. The maid who answered the door seemed to stiffen, and her curtsy jerked.

"Your Highness," she said.

"Is Lady Ambrosia present?" he asked.

"She is, just resting," the maid replied.

He'd definitely noticed her absence at lunch today, so she wouldn't have heard his apology. He frowned – the alcohol must have taken a huge toll on her body, and he could only guess that her hangover was strong enough to leave her bedridden. He knew the feeling all too well.

"Is she… well enough, for a visitor?"

The maid glanced behind her with a sombre frown, and the shuffle of sheets followed. "Erm…" She turned back fully now, whispering and muttering. A high-pitched muttering followed, and Roy recognised the sweet cadence of Ambrosia's voice, pierced with brittle croaks.

Roy clasped his hands, which were clammy with nerves. He could imagine that he was the last person she wanted to see right now.

"Yes," the maid turned back, with a smile. "She is well enough. I will step outside to give you some privacy, but should Her Lady report any feeling of nausea, please alert me."

He stepped aside to let her pass first, before crossing into the room. He immediately noticed that it lacked any amount of flamboyant decoration – no family photos, posters, or ornamentation of any kind. There was a turquoise vase of white flowers on one bedside table, and a leather-bound book of some sort on the other, as well as a selection of scuffed novels huddled together on the bookshel, but it still seemed plain in comparison to his own rooms. There was even a lack of mirrors, save the one on her wardrobe.

Ambrosia was sitting up in her bed. She was already pale, but the hangover only lightened her skin to a ghostly white, and accentuated the red crinkles – her capillaries, no doubt, which had burst from her heavy retching. Her strawberry-blonde hair was a mess of curls and strands, dipping over her face, or folding against her back. Her white nightgown was stained with sweat by her neckline.

She wasn't looking at Roy as he approached. "Y-Your Highness," she managed – her voice breakable and rough. "I… I…"

He gestured to the foot of her bed. "May I?"

"Of course," she said.

He sat down, holding back a cringe as a hint of alcohol or sickness wafted into his nose. The bed was soft and blazing with warmth. Ambrosia must have had a tumultuous night.

She still couldn't look him in the eye. "I…" she gathered a shaky breath. "I'm really sorry." Her arms shook as she braced herself against the headboard. "Really, _really_ sorry. The… the drinks, I just—"

"It's all right," he said, finding himself smiling. "I guarantee you there's been more than one occasion where I had a little too much to drink."

Ambrosia shook her head. "Oh, but it's not the same – I… I just had some newfound confidence, and I _followed_ you from the party, and I… I pushed you against a wall, and…" She trailed off, a blush sweeping across her face – stark against her ill skin.

He leant back against one of the posts for the bed, and grinned, teasing. "You _sure_ did something last night."

She buried her hands in her face. "I-I am so sorry," she choked out. "Really, I… I was drunk, but that's not an excuse, I know—"

"Lady Ambrosia," he said, with more command than he wanted.

She looked up, staring at the wall behind him.

"Ambrosia," he repeated, shucking the title for effect. "It's okay. It went to your head. Was that your first, er, drinking party?"

At this, she looked down again. "Well… no… but I did forget how much the stuff goes to my head…" Her head flew up. "A-And I definitely didn't know what I would _do_ if I got drunk! If I had known—"

"Ambrosia," he cut her off again, "It's _all right_. I'm fine, you're… er, relatively fine. Calm down."

Her eyes clashed with his. The dim light of the room glossed them in natural deep blue tone, a sapphire plunged into the ocean floor. It was easy to see her natural beauty that allowed her to become a model, despite the nausea.

She wrapped the duvet around herself, and sniffed. "If… if you want to eliminate me, then I understand. I-If I could just be allowed to recover first, then I can be gone by this evening."

He blinked, the idea sinking in. He hadn't intended to eliminate her, despite what happened yesterday. If anything, it only reinforced that there was more to the shy Ambrosia than what he expected. Sure, she was drunk, but perhaps sober Ambrosia could be brave, daring and bold like a goddess, too.

"I'm not eliminating you."

Her eyes widened, and she loosened her grip on the duvet. "You're… not?"

The memories of yesterday, being pushed up against that wall with such fervour and eagerness, and now today, the softness, doe-like tranquillity of her curled in bed, coalesced into one image of Ambrosia Nichols. He tucked this information away.

"Nope. You're not being eliminated today." He studied her, his thoughts blank. "I'm actually… more intrigued, than anything."

She blushed, placing her fingertips to her lips in reverence. Roy, too, realising the weight of his words, quickly dismissed the rise of heat to his cheeks by clearing his throat.

"Besides, we've made progress, haven't we? Between us?"

"Progress?" she asked, whilst shaking her head. "Oh, no, no… I've only ruined our previous relationship, Your Highness."

"We didn't _have_ a previous relationship." He grinned. "Look at us."

Ambrosia paused for a moment, before bunching her lips. "I… don't understand."

"You're talking to me. Easily."

Her shoulders rose at the same time as she inhaled a shallow breath. Time seemed to hold the moment, as if it had been bottled in a jar.

"Remember, in Sashi's class?" Roy continued. "You could hardly hold conversation with me. And now we're having a conversation." He softened again. "I'd say that's some progress, wouldn't you?"

The words seemed to cloud Ambrosia for moments, before she let a smile curl her lips. "You're…. you're right," she whispered, with the sudden expel of poignancy. "I… I'm talking to you. We've… made progress…"

"I actually came here," he said, startling himself with his own brazen confidence, "to make progress of my own. To apologise."

She froze. "For… for what?"

"My behaviour as of late." He smirked. "You're not the only one who's been acting out of character." He rose to his feet and tipped his head in formal fashion. "So… if I've been an ass to you lately, in any shape or form—"

"No," she said immediately. Her shaking head was ferocious. "No. You've been… wonderful, to me."

The softness of her words caused a keen thump in his heart, and he tried to quell it. He couldn't let her butter him up like this. He _had_ been an ass, whether it had affected her personally or not.

"Regardless, I'm… sorry," he said. "I'm sorry if I've been a jerk to you, or your friends. I'm working to fix that now, and become a better person. A person worthy of rule." Now he found himself unable to meet her eye. "But… thank you, for being patient with me."

He dared glance up at her. Ambrosia smiled at him – for the first time, brighter than starlight.

"As you have been patient with me, Your Highness."

His heart skipped again.

Coughing, Roy rolled his shoulders back and regained a semblance of his vanity. "Oh, back to _Your Highness_ , are we?" His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I seem to recall being called _Roy_ yesterday."

Ambrosia clamped her mouth shut and blushed again, pulling the duvet around herself. "S-Sorry—" she began to squeak.

He laughed. "No, Roy is great. It's way less stuffy than _Your Highness_ ," he said.

She nodded. "Okay. A-And," she started again, still red. "And I just want to tell you that… I wasn't sick because of you. I know I made it look like that, but… it's not true." She wound the duvet around herself so tightly her mouth was covered, and her voice was muffled. "Your skin is… r-really soft."

Flashes of her eager lips on his neck and the little moan she coaxed from him pillaged the rest of his thoughts. So different was the Ambrosia in front of him now, and _dammit, why was she so cute?_

Before Roy could explode into body-wide blushes, he swivelled onto his heel and stared hard at the doorway. "T-Thanks. Erm… well, that's all then. I'll leave you to rest and recover."

"Thank you," she peeped.

He didn't look at her when he left, but part of his heart still stumbled at the thought.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy allowed himself a few moments to compose himself as he stood outside Riley Aldaine's room. She, too, hadn't been present at lunch to hear his apology. He doubted it was anything to do with how much alcohol she'd drank, but probably rather because she wasn't keen to see him so soon after she made out with him against the wall, and then discovered that Roy'd been a total jerkwad to everyone.

He also doubted that this encounter was going to be anything like the moments in Ambrosia's room – her words, which still reeled within him, inciting an interest for the first time beyond anything superficial in the entire competition.

His heart began to patter lightly at the memory like a spring rain.

Roy shook it off. That wasn't important now. What was important was talking to Riley.

The knock clanged against his mind as much as it did the hallway.

The door swung open seconds later, and, to his surprise, it was Riley that answered, and not her maids. Clearly, she'd been expecting someone else, as her hair crowned the top of her head, held together with some Aztec-patterned clips, and her two-piece dress was the same.

Her lazy smile soured as she took in Roy. "Oh," she said. The annoyance was plain and clear – and devastatingly so the Riley he knew. "What do you want, Roy? Come to yell at me again?"

He steeled his resolve, ignoring her sharpness. "No, Ri. I came… to apologise."

She opened the door wider and leant against the frame. "Yeah, I heard about your speech at lunch." She raised her head, eyes narrowing. "Let's hear it then. Because you do owe me and everyone an apology."

His gut twisted at her vitriol. Still, he knew he could plough through. "I'm… sorry. For being a jackass."

Riley snorted. "Too right."

He dipped his eyebrows. "Are you going to snark me this entire time?"

"Yes, because quite frankly, you don't deserve happy me right now, and you don't deserve the Selected girls. Or Rudy." She listed her head. "Have you apologised to _him_ yet?"

"No, not yet." Seeing the dawning annoyance on her face, Roy cleared his throat loudly. "I wanted to come to you first, before going into Los Angeles to find Rudy. So there." He met her eyes – usually, so full of teasing and sparkle, and now only incensed with dry ashes. "I'm sorry, Riley, for… acting like a spoilt brat."

She crossed her arms. Waiting.

So he would indulge her. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, and Katrina, and Persephone, and the other girls. Elise and Delia and Alisa. I'm… sorry for shirking my royal duties to party, or messing about. It was wrong of me, and unfair to you." He was sure there were a million ways to apologise, and yet now after three, his brain was struggling to find the right words. "I intend to rectify my mistakes, no matter how many I've made."

Prisms of light illuminated the cold neutrality of Riley's face as she contemplated his words. With each passing second of silence, his gut twisted ever so more out of place.

Finally she breathed out a long sigh. "Thank you. I accept your apology." Her face was still grim. "You really should go and see Rudy, though. He's been gone for two days now, and he'll probably want to find another job soon."

Roy's thoughts clouded with the idea of Rudy finding keep elsewhere. Him wearing a cashier's uniform, or a business suit for the office, seemed so foreign compared to his black coattail jacket and shirt, his white gloves and neat ponytail.

"I know," Roy choked out. "But… I have more to say to you."

He'd been dreading this part.

Riley stood straighter, uncrossing her arms. "Oh?"

He cast his gaze to the wide windows at the end of the hall. The sun would soon be setting for the day, but it still engulfed the carpet in glittering fragments. It helped to unravel the knot in his stomach – even the tiniest bit.

"My past is not something I'm proud of," he began, looking back at her. "Including recent events, of course, everyone knows I'm the 'party prince' who gets wasted more times than he files proposals for change. It's… part of me I tried to embrace, and that only came to bite me in the butt, really."

Riley cracked a smile.

"Do you remember," Roy continued, "the tour bus date we had?"

"Pffft," she replied, easing, "how could I forget? You, all a bundle of nerves."

He stuck out his tongue. "Sure, mock me for being nervous on my first date."

She let out a chuckle too, but sombreness soon replaced Roy's amusement.

"I was wild, and carefree – or at least, ignorant. I probably am, to some degree still. It'll always be part of me, but it's a part… I want to contain. Control." He sucked in a breath, hot and feverish. "If I ever want to be a good king, ruler, and husband, I know that I must put my other responsibilities before me. My country and people, and people I love, come before me. Even if they scare me. Even if partying was…" he blew out the same breath, scared to admit it to himself, and whispered, "even if partying was my escape from stress."

He clasped his hands behind his back, staring mostly into space. "It's all right to be selfish sometimes. Because sometimes you need time for yourself, but a lot of the time… I was always selfish."

Riley reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "And now you see it. Now you're prepared to do something about it. You _have_ done something about it."

He smiled at the touch. "I know, but it doesn't change the fact that my past still follows me. If I want to move on, then I…" He braved meeting her gaze. "Then I need to put it all behind me. For real."

Understanding dawned on Riley's face – solemn, tense – and she replaced her arm by her side. "Including me."

"… Including you."

The words punctured him.

He gripped his hands tighter. "I always seemed to fall to you whenever things got tough, and I've realised that maybe it's not because I _really_ like you, Riley, but because… you're part of my escape. The tour bus romance was real, yes, but this… this isn't."

Air seemed to congeal around him, thick and unwelcoming. Riley paused to think, each blink of her eyes a reminder of each ticking second, caressing through the endless stream of time.

The last thing Roy wanted was to hurt her. Maybe he only used her, maybe she only used him, and perhaps all of their flirtations were silly, superficial things easily discarded, but their past had been real, and their friendship for one other burnt as strongly as any fire, or love.

He did love Riley. Very much. But part of his love for her was so entrenched in what they had done in the past, and he wasn't sure the man he was now and woman that stood before him were as compatible anymore.

Being unable to read her face was more torture to Roy right now than being taken by the rebels.

She nodded, dragging Roy back to the reality. She nodded, more eagerly, and clasped his shoulders again. "I think… you're right." She winked. "For once."

He couldn't help but shudder. "You're not… hurt, or anything?"

She juggled her head from side-to-side. "Sure, I'm a little disappointed that we didn't work out, but life's too short to be miserable about it." Her smile eased her features, so different from the scowls of earlier. "I'll always cherish what we had during the tour."

"Of course!" he piped, with far more gusto than he intended. "Of course. I'll always be grateful to have met you, Riley."

She smirked – that lazy smile. "And teaching you how to kiss."

He rolled his eyes. "All right, fine. Thank you for… teaching me how to kiss."

She laughed, and he was pleased to hear it sound whole and healthy. Not at all broken by what he'd said. Riley, never easily heckled – strong to her very bones.

"You're welcome." She squeezed him with pride. "Now you go on and be a badass king, you hear me?"

"If I ever tour again, you're the first person I'm coming to."

"I _better_ be." She winked again. "And I hope when you do, you'll be bringing your wife with you."

He blushed at the thought, and she chuckled, before falling silent. "You know, there are some things about you that I hope you don't change, Roy. Pieces of you that are admirable. Your likeable and easy-going personality. Your ability to find humour everywhere you go. And, no matter how deep it's buried, your motivation to do what's right. That's why I liked you in the first place." She softened. "Don't forget it."

His heart warmed at the compliments, and Roy decided he would remember her words, whenever things became too tough. "Thank you. I won't."

She retracted her arms and stretched. "Well, I had hoped to go for a walk around the palace with Skylar, but I guess that's out. I better let her know and pack."

"Stay as long as you like," he added. "I may have eliminated you, but it doesn't mean you're not welcome."

"I know," she said. "But it would feel a little weird hanging around. Besides, now that I'm a world-famous tour manager, I'll bet I have tons of work incoming."

He rolled his eyes in teasing, but his heart relaxed into a steady beat, knowing that after everything they'd been through, Riley was going to be all right.

"I don't doubt it," he replied. "And I… well, I have one more apology to make."

She nodded. "Stay safe, okay? And say hi to Rudy for me."

Roy smiled. "I will."

And as he left Riley Aldaine to pack, he felt an enormous weight on his shoulders, which had persisted in its presence, cease to exist.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The limo ride through Los Angeles was really awkward.

Durante wasn't usually one to talk anyway, since stoicism was normal for him, but this evening, he had scrunched up every muscle he had. Still mad at Roy, of course, and Roy knew it, but after telling Durante his plan to go to Los Angeles, right to Rudy's apartment door, to make an apology, he'd hoped the guard would have relaxed.

Nope. Durante wouldn't even meet his eye.

And he wouldn't accept an apology either. Roy could only guess he would ease up on the death glare when Roy had well and truly made up with Rudy.

Silence battered Roy's ears even as they climbed out of the car with several other guards, keeping eye for any press who had caught them sneaking away from the palace, and ascended several flights of stairs of Rudy's apartment complex in downtown Los Angeles.

The sea breeze slipped into Roy's nose, mixing with the general scent of sweat and stardom. The building, five stories high and crammed into the back streets, far away from Beverly Hills or Sunset Boulevard, had been graffitied with bubble writing and neon paint, which at least added some colour to the dull, muted surroundings. The bannisters and handrail paint was chipping off, and dubious stains mottled the concrete, but apart from that, it seemed an understated place to live. Exactly like Rudy.

Once reaching the fifth floor, Roy pushed away the thought of how much he was sweating and ordered all the guards except for Durante to wait by the stairwell and _try_ to act inconspicuous. No doubt, the minute someone recognised their palace uniforms, the press would swarm the place. And Rudy didn't seem like the type of person to want to be swarmed.

The floor was square-shaped, with each door tucked into an alcove that faced its neighbour across the hall. Like the handrails, Rudy's front door was chipped, and the red peeling off to reveal a muddy wood texture underneath. The peephole had a dubious stain on the front. Roy felt guilt lap through him – if he'd had known Rudy lived in such squalor, he would have upgraded him to a nicer complex immediately.

Then again, Rudy spent most, if not all, of his time at the palace.

Roy zipped behind the wall and gestured to Durante. "All right, you knock."

Durante lifted an eyebrow. "… Why?"

"Because I know he'll open the door for you, but if he sees me, he might not."

Durante deadpanned, and Roy could just see the plethora of insults rolling around in his head. Alas, his shoulders slumped.

"Very well, Your Highness."

He plucked the brass ring and knocked three times. Roy scooted back from the wall and waited. What if Rudy was out shopping for groceries, or visiting his dad?

What if… he'd already found a new job?

After ten seconds, the door clicked opened, and Roy's clenching lungs released.

"Officer Durante, what a surprise," grated Rudy's most unenthusiastic voice yet. "What could _possibly_ bring you and an _entourage_ of guards here to my humble apartment complex, save for perhaps the prince _himself_ coming here to see me?"

Roy's stomach dropped.

There was a pause.

"… I mean, you hit that dead on the nose," said Durante.

Rudy ignored him apparently. "I know you're there, Your Highness."

 _Dammit_ , Roy thought. _I'm really bad at keeping hidden_.

He swung around the corner. Rudy was dressed casually, in a red check shirt and black jeans – the strangest thing to grace Roy's eyes yet. A dishcloth had been thrown over his shoulder, and his hair was tied up into a messy knot on the top of his head. He clutched a ginormous black bag.

Plus, the annoyed frown. If he was surprised at Roy's new haircut, he didn't show it.

Sweat pooled in Roy's shoes. "I, er, just happened to be passing by," said Roy, his voice raising higher.

Rudy didn't drop his frown. "And I just happened to be putting this bag out with the rest of the _trash_." He dropped the bin bag outside his door with an accompanied _plonk_. "Good evening, _Your Highness_."

He made to shut the door.

Roy shot forwards. "Wait!"

Rudy stilled.

"I came to talk."

Rudy pursed his lips, before opening the door wider to allow him entrance.

Roy padded in slowly, as Durante lumbered behind – so tall, he had to crouch to fit under the doorframe. The other guards watched them go in, but remained tittering by the stairwell.

Rudy's apartment was spotless of dirt, and thick with the smell of bleach. They came into a small kitchen, the burner grates submerged in a basin of steaming, frothy water. A mop had been left by the side of the washing machine, wedged underneath a laminate matte countertop. The kitchen overlooked the living room, with a coffee table, patchwork sofa and armchair, and the TV on the stand. A vacuum hose was strewn across the couch armrests.

Rudy dropped the dishtowel into the sink and sat down in the armchair. The chair of power, evidently, as Roy shuffled to the sofa and sat on the edge, by the vacuum hose. Durante stayed standing in the kitchen, stoic as ever.

"How can I help you, Your Highness?"

It stung to hear him say it so callously – as if their years of friendship meant nothing.

Then again, they'd meant nothing when Roy had fired him.

He strung his hands together, more nervous than he had been at lunch. More nervous than when he'd seen Ambrosia and Riley combined. The day he'd fired Rudy, his temper had been off the charts, and Rudy had faced the brunt of it.

Even if Rudy didn't want his job back, Roy hoped he would at least accept his apology.

"I came to… I came to say sorry," he began slowly, watching the minute changes of Rudy's facial expression. "About… you know. That day."

Rudy sat back, the armchair caging him, and smiled that insufferable, _know-it-all_ smile. "I'm sorry, I'm not quite familiar with this _day_ you are referring to."

It was almost as if Rudy were enjoying it. Roy, again, didn't blame him.

He trounced his embarrassment and spoke. "I'm referring to two days ago. When I… I fired you."

Gone, was Rudy's smart frown, and he glued his gaze to Roy expectantly.

"Go on," he said.

Roy grasped the cluster of nerves in his stomach and forced himself to sit still.

"I'm sorry for firing you." Pause. "I'm sorry for… being a total, complete, and utter asshole. I was sticking my head in the sand, and you were just trying to help me get back into the groove, and I didn't want to listen."

Rudy leant back. "I'd say your head was further lodged up your own buttocks than in the sand."

Something struck Roy hard and fast in the gut, and he felt it tear a void through him. To hear Rudy say it… was more painful than he could ever anticipate.

He hated how true it was. Hated it. Hated how humiliated it made him feel, to look back at how he'd acted. So spoilt and entitled. That there weren't people worse off than him, in his palace, with his thousands of servants and towers of gold.

That wasn't to say he didn't have his own struggles. The title of Prince Regent _was_ a burden, was a chore, was choking him from the inside-out. But it didn't mean he had to trample on everyone else just to make his pain known.

And he'd done that to Rudy. Mocked him for being the helping hand he couldn't live without.

Roy gulped his thoughts down, and they burnt his throat like dry ethanol. "I— I know," he said eventually. "To be honest, I think my head was up my own ass _and_ the sand. If that's possible."

This earnt a chuckle from Rudy. Just a twinkle of amusement, and Roy clung to that hope that they could become working colleagues, and friends, again. Even if the laughter dissipated as soon as it came about.

This time, Roy couldn't hold his gaze anymore, and fidgeted with his hands – something that had been drilled out of him in prince training.

But it occurred to him he wasn't speaking as a prince, but as a friend.

Roy threw his voice into the silence. "Rudy, the palace isn't the same without you. I… miss you, and your sarcasm, and your cynicism, and your wisdom. I'm sorry I took you for granted. I've sworn to be a better person and not push people away when things get tough, and to definitely take into consideration their feelings." He stared hard at his fingers, and he was surprised to feel the knot in his throat tightening with anticipation. "Please forgive me… bro."

He looked back up at his friend.

Rudy was smirking.

"That's the soppiest thing I've ever heard."

Durante snorted from behind Roy, and even Roy replayed it in his head, only to realise how corny it was. He fired back a smirk equal in mocking.

"Nothing beats," he placed his hand on his heart, and said airily, " _competing with a_ _platoon of guards_."

Durante choked down his laugh, louder.

Rudy's frown could snuff candlelight.

Roy froze. "… Too soon?"

Rudy shot them both a sharp look. "It is _always_ too soon." He rounded back to Roy, softening. "It means a lot that you came down to say all that me, Roy. Thank you. I accept your apology."

The weight on Roy's shoulders breezed free, and Roy engulfed air as if he'd been holding his breath. Sickly bleach attacked his tongue, and yet, it was the freshest breath of air he'd had for the last three days.

Still, this didn't mean Rudy was coming back, so he plunged. "You don't have to have your job back if you don't want it, but I feel I should let you know the my current valet could never replace you, especially since he always uses too much lavender oil in my baths—"

"I _suppose_ I could deign to return," said Rudy, clasping his hands together. "On a few conditions."

It was Roy's turn to frown, even as he shoved down the eagerness in his chest. Agreeing like he was about to was dangerous, but Rudy wouldn't take advantage of his kindness. "Name it."

For the first time today, Rudy looked uncertain – his eyebrows knitting together. He sat straighter and crossed his arms, lifting his head. "All right. Firstly… I want a raise."

"Done." Easy game. Roy resisted the urge to look around. "I'll buy you a new apartment if you want."

"No apartment. Just the raise, would be appreciated."

Rudy never asked for wage raises. Given the number of times Roy had thrown them at Durante, it was high time he stared applying that logic to the poor man who had to scrub his filthy shoes, too.

"Well, if you want just the raise, fine. It's yours. What else?"

"Longer vacation time."

Roy grinned. "Every day with me _is_ a vacation."

Rudy glared at him.

"All right, I'm joking. It's done. Anything else?"

He was expecting something huge – the mountain to his modest requests.

"I want," Rudy said, stuffing his voice full of false confidence. "I want you, from now on, to separate your own underwear."

Durante choked – it was painfully obvious he was trying not to screech with laughter.

Roy couldn't help his lips drooping. "My _underwear_ …?"

"We would have a distinct laundry basket for you to dispose of them, sectioned by colour. Then all I would have to do is simply toss each basket of the respective colour into the washing machine," Rudy clarified, his back was sagging with, perhaps, relief. Clearly, he'd thought about this in detail. "I don't mind folding them for you when they're clean, but I'd prefer _not_ to touch them when they're used. Even gloves don't seem to cull the grotesqueness of the task—"

Roy stuck out his tongue. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. "I'll… separate my own underwear. Is that it?"

Rudy seemed to think for a moment. "Oh, and a car. If I may."

Well, there it was. Roy stifled his laugh. "We'll get that organised, then."

Rudy nodded, satisfied. "Those are my conditions."

"I can live with them," Roy said, shuddering, "… even the underwear."

"It is _your_ underwear. Why are _you_ disgusted?"

"Because it's still _underwear_ , Rudy. Who ever _wants_ to touch underwear?"

"I wished you'd asked that earlier, since I've been washing _yours_ since you were twelve."

Durante sighed. "Oh dear."

That sent both Roy and Rudy into a fit of giggles.

It was nice to have Rudy back.

"You'll be back tomorrow morning, right?" Roy said, as he and Durante made to leave.

"Evening, if that's all right," Rudy said. "I'm currently helping my father with a few errands with my free time."

Roy could live with that, even if he couldn't live with too much lavender oil. "All right." He grinned. "Good to have you back, bro."

He expected Rudy to roll his eyes, but instead, he gave a lopsided smile. "Good to be back… bro."

On the way back to the palace, the limo stuffed with that entourage of guards, Roy whistled so many tunes his lips began to hurt. But he was happy – happy that he'd made up with his Selected and his best friend. Happy, he'd vowed to reform, and start being a Roy everyone could be proud of.

He even whistled his _hellos_ to everyone once back inside the comfort of his home.

Even passing Alex and Barney on the way back to his room didn't dampen his mood.

"Oh, _Fitz_. There you are," said Alex, by way of greeting. His sneer was an awful, treacherous thing. "No point going back to your room right now."

Dread clogged Roy's veins, and he snarled. "What did you do?"

He shrugged, but the intent wasn't there. "Oh, nothing much."

He strode away before Roy could demand answers, Barney in quiet and solemn tow.

Roy thought they were just winding him up, as they usually liked to do, but as he rounded the corner to his room, he spotted his replacement valet hovering by the door.

"Your Highness," he said, bowing hastily. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your evening, but you have an urgent conference call waiting for you in the East Wing."

Roy stilled. He wasn't expecting a call from anyone. "From whom?"

The butler frowned. "Her Majesty. Your mother," he said. "She wishes to discuss… the last three days."

* * *

 **A/N:** oh no! Is Roy in trouble with Mama Schreave?! Hope you enjoyed the early chapter! (It occured to me that I picked a terrible day for updates, thanks to my university timetable, so I bumped it up to midweek instead.)

And another elimination! Thank you to Of Darkness and of Light for Riley Aldaine! It was so interesting to play with an ex-girlfriend character, and I'm glad I got the chance! Her and Roy's relationship was so unique compared to the other Selected, plus Riley was so sarcastic and funny. Alas, not meant to be for Roy!

I'd love to know your thoughts so far, so please review! Follows and favourites deserving of as many virtual cookies also!

~ GWA

NTT: "What kind of nerd reads America Singer Schreave's biography, anyway?"


	32. Discourse in the Fam-dom

The wall projected with Ji-Yu's image seemed to shake when Roy walked into the darkened taping room.

Nerves on fire, he knew his mother had found out about the firings, the party, his attitude towards his work… everything. She knew everything. And, no doubt, it was Alex that had snitched to her.

Roy clenched his fists. _Damn Alex_. Whether it was Roy or Chiara who had shoved him over the edge, Alex had decided to slip him a revenge that crossed even the thickest of boundaries.

Telling.

So juvenile, when he thought about it. The temptation to write a list as long as the Lord of the Rings about all of the trouble the Twinces had caused and send it to Aunt Philippa, was overpowering and delicious.

But he wasn't that level of petty.

Roy was worse.

Chiara delivering justice was just the beginning.

The camera, attached to the main computer screen and pivoted to face outwards, didn't quite have the range to snatch Roy in its view yet, so he gently closed the door. Her face, inflated by the largeness of the wall screen, shone with sweat, and her black hair was pulled taut into a bun. The tops of her _hanbok_ , too, peered over the edge of the screen, and he knew he was dealing with the worst version of his mother.

Her Majesty, the Queen. _Work_ Ji-Yu.

Gulping down a palette of saliva, Roy stepped into view.

" _There_ you are," she barked, her voice crackling with static. "Finally decided to find time to speak to me, or were you too busy _drinking_ your life away?"

He was so glad she wasn't in the room – he might have shrunk away at her tone. "Look, I can explain—"

"You damn well better explain to me!" she snapped. "Explain why you've been _neglecting_ your duties as _Prince Regent_ and skiving off to party instead!" She threw out a hand in his direction. "It appears you've been more concerned with your _appearance_ than your _country_!"

Suddenly flustered, he instinctually went to brush hair behind his ear – but the strands were too short.

Ji-Yu didn't let up. "And— And I even heard you haven't been seeing Gail! Your father explicitly said to play with her at least once a while!"

That, he would regret more than the rest of his issues. His sister was only young once, and he didn't want her to grow resentful.

"I'm _sorry_ , okay?" he pressed, before she could leap into another rant. "The last few days – yes, I've been a complete idiot. But I've realised my mistakes, and I'm working to correct them."

"Oh, you better be, Jun Fitzroy Schreave," she snarled. "It appears I can't even leave you for two weeks without you doing something foolish."

That stung, but he tried not to let it show, and he tried not to let it get to him.

"And Hobbs!" she shrilled. "Why did you _fire_ my best trade advisor?!"

Raw, Roy retaliated, "Because _he_ was being an asshole during a trade meeting, is why."

She growled, "Don't use that language."

"It's true. He continually condescended to me, Lady Persephone, and Princess Leeza de Sauveterre," said Roy. "It's the only thing I still feel justified in doing." He went about it the wrong way, he agreed to himself, but the outcome was still the same.

The pixels of the screen weren't fast enough to capture the brief shake of her head, and she seemed to calm for moments. A moment of tranquillity in her storm. "Very well. I can picture that, if I'm honest. Hobbs wasn't the most agreeable of people." She paused. "But that doesn't excuse your other wretched behaviour, and if my mind weren't already occupied with dealing with weapons testing, we would be having a full discussion right here and now."

Which meant they _weren't_ have a full discussion right here and now, which poured some relief onto his wounded pride.

She scowled. "The day I return, I expect my advisors to be _pleased_ with your work, and our foreign guests to leave satisfied. I'm absolutely tired of having to scold you for every little thing."

Likewise, he was fed up having to live up to her ideologies, but he held his tongue.

"You have just over a week to prove yourself, Jun," she said. "Don't disappoint me any further."

The screen went black.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Ji-Yu's words rang with him even as he tossed and turned that night. He'd finally relieved the ache in his chest from the last few days, and then Ji-Yu had gone and aggravated him all over again. She sought perfection, and anything less would warrant admonishment from her, as if he were a child. He was, in ways. Still learning the ins and outs of being royal. Now he felt it like world on his shoulders, like Atlas separating the sky and the land.

Now he had to _not_ mess up.

He knew he wasn't perfect, but Ji-Yu's desire to see him as such… made him more fearful than proud to try again.

He tried to compose his thoughts as he read proposals in his bedroom for new educations schemes. Rudy was coming back that evening, which at least provided some way of comfort.

A soft knock ripped his thoughts away, and he was more than happy to stretch his arms and open the door.

Skylar Davenport's frown was unusual for her – so stark of her usual nature that it felt almost wrong. Her dress today was a muted grey skater dress, and matching heels, and her hair spun in loose coils down her front.

"Erm, Your Highness," she began, first looking at him, but averting her eyes to his room behind him – uncharacteristically unlike her. "I… how are you?"

Nervousness radiated from her, and he almost felt bad for how much he had dreaded doing his best on work. He tried not to focus on Durante lingering in the background. "I've been better," he said, laughing sheepishly. "How about you? You look… tense."

She swallowed loudly before puffing out her chest. "I… I came to apologise."

He widened his eyes. "Apologise?" He was sure he looked as baffled as he felt. "Why? You've done nothing wrong." In fact, she was the first to clap, when she apologised.

"Actually, I…" she twiddled her thumbs, "well, I feel… like I've done wrong." She looked up at him hopefully. "May I… come in?"

He opened the door wider, and she padded inside – warily at first, then, her interest hinged firmly on her new surroundings. Her eyes swept across every piece of furniture, every ornament. Even the windows, which were cracked open to allow a draught of fresh, cool air inside.

"Woooow," she chirped. "Your window is huge. And your room is so… big!"

He stuck out his tongue. "Of course it is. I need my space."

She smirked. "To fit your ego?" A snort of giggles blurted from her. "Ooooooh!"

He snorted too, suddenly reminded what Skye was like in her normal state of chattiness. It was… cute.

Her laughter died, as he closed the door and turned to face her. "Well, I came to apologise for… for my behaviour." She twirled around, scrunching the hem of her dress, her lip bitten. "I feel as if… I've been so… touchy-feely, and it's been inappropriate. With you."

Skye was more touchy-feely than the rest of the girls dared go… but he somewhat liked that part of her. Still so bold, despite the possible repercussions. And he never had a problem with her grazing his arm occasionally.

She sucked in a breath. "Not that it's not been _nice_ to touch you or anything. You feel nice." Pause – she clenched her hem harder, probably realising what she'd said. "Wait. That came out wrong."

He tugged a smile up. "You're fine, Lady Skye. I don't think you've been inappropriate at all."

Her head flew up, and he was greeted by her glimmering, green eyes. "Oh, really? I was so sure… especially after your speech…" She rubbed the back of her neck. "I just felt I'd wronged you too, and it was best to apologise. Maybe I was paranoid."

Roy winked. "Just a little."

She chuckled.

He remembered, then – what she'd said during their short encounter together in the garden, just before Yuriko Sato had been sent home – and he felt his face darken. Was she still jealous of the others, or had that passed?

"Actually, I did wonder… do you get along with the other girls?"

She blinked. "The… other girls?" The question seemed to click when she straightened. "Oh! Yes! We're all fine. I usually hang around with Avianna, if you didn't know that already from… er, the party." She cocked her head to one side. "Do I give off the impression of a loner?"

It was Roy's turn to register the question, and his insides scrambled for some excuse. "No. Well… I don't know, sometimes I wonder if… if the Selected girls get jealous."

It took her less time to ponder than he thought it would. "I mean, I'm not going to lie to you, Your Highness. Selected girls do get jealous."

As he suspected. Still, his heart sank. He didn't think he was worth such a negative emotion. "How so?"

Skye pulled back her lips, as if she didn't want to talk about. "Oh, it's mostly fine! We're all very civil with one another, but… you know… it's still a competition…" She drifted to the window, pressing her palms to the glass, the pads of her fingers leaving prints. "At the end of the day, we're all here to compete for you. I'd be surprised if there weren't even the tiniest bit of tension between us all."

He crossed the room towards her, pushing the door open. The cold streamed through his clothes, and he knew he'd regret allowing the November chill inside, but Skye seemed to be enjoying the view.

She perked up. "Can I see the balcony?"

Roy gestured as answer, and Skye tiptoed outside, leaning over the safety rails to taste the wind on her face. Her hair whipped around her, mad and uncontrollable, yet free and wild.

He winced. "Please don't fall to your death," he said – trying not to wonder what the patrols in the gardens would think if she did.

She laughed, and the breeze carried it like a ribbon dancing through the air. "I won't. I live for a thrill."

He supposed that was the snowboarder in her talking. They stood in silence for a moment, before she – reluctantly, by the look of her face – retracted to stand next to him in the safety of the balcony.

"Is this the third floor? What a wonderful view of the palace," she said, breathless – as if he really had been twirling and fluttering like a windswept leaf. "You're so lucky."

Roy had never seen it before until recently – how lucky he was.

"I know," he whispered in response.

She pivoted to face him, heels clacking. "It reminds me of the views back home, in Ottaro." She laughed suddenly, and said with a wink, "You should see the Canadian Rockies mountain range. I heard the snowboarding is pretty good."

He returned the smirk. "I'll bet. It'd be interesting to see you snowboarding, some time."

She puffed her chest with pride. "Well, you can always watch my snowboarding competition videos." She swiped at her hair. "I'm Internet famous."

"Pffft, who needs a big room for their ego _now_?"

She choked out a snort and punched him in the arm teasingly. It hurt more than he expected – he'd obviously missed the muscles buried in her arm.

"Well," she said, once they'd stopped giggling, "I should probably let you get back to work." She feigned a salute and marched back to the door. "Ask me out on a date soon, m'kay, Roy?"

 _Roy_.

She seemed to realise a moment after he had, and stunted her walk – suddenly stammering. "I… I mean, Your Highness. Totally didn't forget your title, or anything."

His name was such a comfort nowadays. If he weren't a prince, calling him _Roy_ would be standard practice.

"No, that's fine. I prefer Roy," he said.

"Then, if that's the case," she replied, with a dogged expression, "I prefer just Skye."

"All right, Just Skye. I can do that."

She stuck out her tongue.

"You should be back to work." Her salute, and bright grin again. "See you later, _Roy_."

Skye nearly looked like she wanted to skip down the hallway, and Roy held off from shutting his door to watch her disappear around the corner. He hadn't missed her _date_ comment, either. Bold, and without any master to dictate social protocol… perhaps some thought her too forward.

Roy thought she was just forward enough.

Memories churned, and he scolded himself – _god_ , he'd been slacking so much on the dates with the Selected girls. The last he remembered was with Luna, and that hadn't been date-worthy, really – not when they'd used the opportunity to talk about his drugging. The time before that had been Lilly.

Then again, he hadn't had much time since the crowning of his temporary regency, and nor had he had the attitude.

He smiled, closing the door. Maybe he would ask her. Soon, when he'd finally sorted the rest of his life out.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

That evening, Roy rolled his wrists on his way down to the servants' wing to welcome back Rudy into the palace, and discuss the new conditions of his return (the car, most especially). Reading the education proposals had eaten a chunk of the day, and by the time he'd finished, having transferred his papers to his office to dive harder into a working mood, the sun had long set and stars twinkled across the sky.

A spring in his step powered him on. He wasn't sure the other servants had prepared anything, but regardless, Roy intended to give him a personal welcome. A welcome home.

And then maybe direct him to some of the really cool neon green Ferraris.

Roy tried to stifle the image of Rudy cruising in a neon green Ferrari, and laughs bubbled to his lips.

The carpeted corridors muffled the noise of his loafers, so when Barney and Alisa Orlov turned the corner and paused to stare at an ornamental bust at their end of the corridor, they didn't notice Roy until he was in front of them.

Euphoria slipped away, and Roy felt his heart bleed with annoyance. Barney _and_ Alisa. There was no way that could be coincidental.

"You two," he said, only realising how accusatory that sounded after it came from his mouth, and he drew back. "What are you doing?"

Barney's head jumped his way – and that guilty look festered. " _Fitz_ ," he said, a distinct lack of venom in his voice. "What— er—"

Alisa didn't look guilty at all, however. In her knee-length dress, ruffled and embroidered with hundreds of pale pink roses, and her hair in what was becoming her signature bun, she gestured to the marble bust. "Oh, hello, Your Highness," she said sweetly. "I was just showing Prince Barnabas around."

He found it hard to believe. As if Barney needed to be shown around the palace by a girl who had only lived her for a few months, when he'd been visiting his mother's childhood home since he could walk.

But her voice had been genuine – so _sincere_.

Barney was doing it to piss off Roy. Again. Probably flattering and flirting with Alisa, and who knew who else, to gain her favour. Maybe more.

Roy scowled, and it must have showed – Alisa went from innocent joy to alarm.

Barney coughed. "Yes. Yes. That's what Lady Alisa was doing. Showing me around."

There was sincerity in his voice, too. As if his momentary mind blank had been thoroughly swept away for the truth. Roy didn't know what to make of it.

Alisa turned hastily back to the bust, avoiding Roy's fiery gaze. "Actually, I'm not sure who this is. I've been walking around the palace a lot to find things I haven't seen before." Red blossomed on her cheeks, so it must have been embarrassing to admit. "And, erm, I think my history needs brushing up on."

Roy studied the bust. It was a woman, and her hair was coiffed into a knot, just tucked underneath her small crown. The marble she was made of netted the wall light's glow, refracting winks of glow like stars.

No name had been added to the bust's pedestal. He shrugged. "I don't know. Probably one of my ancestors." He scrounged for a name. "America Singer Schreave?"

Barney scoffed, though it sounded forced. "I am nearly certain that is _Eadlyn_ Schreave. She was young when she died, hence the youth of her bust."

Roy's chest twisted. A challenge…?

"That doesn't rule out that America could have been sculpted when she was younger."

Barney scoffed. "Did you _read_ her biographies? She wasn't vain whatsoever. That would be completely out of character."

"Eadlyn might not have had the opportunity to be sculpted before her premature death."

"They could have used a photographic reference. Cameras _did_ exist, you know."

"I bet you made up all that _out of character_ stuff. What kind of nerd reads America Singer Schreave's biography, anyway?"

" _Biographies_. She wrote three about her life here: her initial reaction, in _The Selection_ ; her life as an Elite in _The Elite_ ; then, winning, in _The One_. All bundled under a package titled _The Selection series_." His scowl didn't waver. "Perhaps you should read them to learn how to run your _own_ Selection, since you apparently don't have a diddly squat of a clue—"

Alisa stomped her foot. " _Stop it_ , you two!" she snapped. "Honestly, it's a beautiful sculpture. Can't you just appreciate it for a moment?"

Roy nearly jerked away. Wow, he had not expected any level of sass coming from _Alisa Orlov_.

He gulped down his vexation, side-glancing at Barney, who had, too, smothered his glare for something more placid.

"Apologies, my lady," he mumbled.

That might have been the first time Roy had ever heard him apologise for anything. And it hadn't taken much prompting.

What the hell was going on between these two?

"Sorry," Roy said, flickering his view between them. "It's not often I can say there's discourse in the bust fandom."

Barney cocked an eyebrow liked that was the weirdest sentence he'd ever heard. He was probably right.

Alisa cleared her throat. "No matter who the sculpture is meant to be, I think it's lovely."

"Quite," Barney agreed.

His eyes daggered Roy, and Roy, incensed, turned up the bottom of his lip.

An idea slithered into Roy's conscience.

 _I haven't been on a date in a while_.

To show Barney how ineffective his influence was, how futile his attempts were to woo Alisa over to the dark side…

He plucked up a smile so obnoxious he thought his face might melt. "Lady Alisa, are you free, perhaps, tomorrow evening? I'd like to take you on a date."

Alisa's eyes fluttered open wide, and she lifted her palms up to shroud her open mouth. A far cry from the scolding she delivered moments earlier. "Oh! Yes!" she chirruped, near bouncing on the spot. "That would be wonderful!"

Quickly, he looked at Barney behind her. His eyes had widened too, but not in joy, and a sickening sense of delight washed over Roy in satisfaction. _Take that, poser_.

He regarded Alisa once more, this time with a genuine grin. "We can see the kitchens. Like I said I'd show you when we first met." He laughed. "Maybe we can make something. Or, er, try to."

She clapped her hands in glee. "I'd love that. I've been so eager to see them." Shying, she dipped her head. "I'm… surprised you remembered."

So, it meant she'd hadn't been with Chiara, who was also a chef, or the silver-tongued Barney. If he was really trying to pull Alisa away, he wasn't trying very hard.

"Of course I remember," Roy said, listing his head. "I forget very little."

Barney muttered, "Except what your _ancestors_ looked like, apparently."

Alisa twirled on Barney, arms akimbo, and shot him a nasty glare, and he withered like a wilting daisy. A wash of guilty pleasure surfed over Roy and he did everything in his power not to guffaw.

She faced Roy again, all trace of her anger gone. "Thank you, yes. I accept."

"Great. I'll swing by your room at, say, eight, tomorrow? Don't eat a filling dessert after dinner."

She nodded. "I'll see you then."

"And, if I can talk to Barney alone for a second," Roy continued.

Her mood dimmed. "Of course." She gestured to Barney, before finding the next bust down the hallway to observe in quiet.

Barney's face was bunched as if he'd smelt something terrible. "What do you want?" he hissed.

Roy darkened. "I know you're trying to annoy me by buttering up my Selected, and fine, go ahead and annoy me, but leave them out of it."

The twin stilled. "I'm merely letting her show me around."

Anger boiled within Roy. _Liar_.

Barney leant forwards, as if about to confess his darkest secrets. "Believe it or not, one can be friends with the others in the palace _without_ trying to annoy you."

Roy scoffed. "The only friend you'll ever have is Alex. And he doesn't count, because he's blood. And we all know you're not chatting her up to be her _best friend five-ever_." He leant back, making to walk away. "So lay off."

Barney's glare lingered, and he sniffed the air indignantly. "You seem to be implying that I intend to sabotage your Selection," he said, dangerously low. "I _did_ read America Singer Schreave's biographies. I'm well aware of the rules. _However_ , I will have you know that people are not _objects_. Lady Alisa chose to accompany me today of her own volition." He rose, clasping his hands behind his back with whatever dignity he could cobble together. "So I suggest that _you_ lay off."

He strode away, joining Alisa by the next marble sculpture, and Roy could taste the sizzle of tension between them, even with his back turned.

Gritting his teeth, Roy marched back down the corridor. Rudy was probably back in the servants' wing now, but Barney's flammable words had unleashed so much smoky anger within Roy that he couldn't focus on anything else. This was all just a game to Barney – the idea of treason and crime so far removed that he played his hand so thinly-veiled.

No tricks could fool Roy. One day, he'd catch Barney in the act, and then the tables would turn. Roy grinned to himself, looking forward to the day Barney, and Alex, got their just desserts.

Or, even better, to when they would _leave_.

Could he make a law about banning insufferable cousins from the palace grounds?

Roy pattered down the stairs with renewed vigour. Tossing all thoughts of puppet master Barney from his mind, he refocused on the glorious occasion of Rudy's return. At least that gave him some joy.

A flicker of black caught his eye when he turned towards the servants' quarters. Something just quivering out of view around the next turn.

Curious, Roy followed, clasping the wall and peering around. The servants' entrance came into view: far less exuberant than the front doors of the palace, with a steel door leading to the servants' car park around side of the palace.

Levinia Lefray had cocooned herself in a blood red long coat, flattering against her frame. Her hair was dead straight, barely concealing her scarfed neck, and she was whispering something to the guard by the door.

Something jerked inside Roy. Why was _Levinia_ , of all people, down here? Talking to this guard? He wasn't even anything special – pale skin, tea brown hair chopped not unlike Roy's new style, and chocolate brown eyes. Acne riddled his face how stars would riddle a map of the universe. A faceless man in the sea of uniform.

He watched Levinia press her red high heels onto the balls of her feet and lean towards the guard. It was a coy gesture that hinted at an inner desire, and he could see it by the guard's blushing cheeks.

 _Flirting_ with him.

That was treason.

Or, at least, the beginnings of treason.

Had Roy just walked in on some secret relationship? Levinia Lefray, famous without the Selection, in a tryst with a _guard_ , of all people?

Roy couldn't say he was surprised, but he did feel a sharp pang of jealousy ripple through him. He squashed it down to watch with horrified awe.

Levinia leant forwards, lifting onto her tiptoes, and with her hands pressed against his jaw, she gently guided the guard's lips down towards her own—

And then she let out a low laugh. Sultry, but playful. He jerkily opened the door, and let her sneak into the darkness of the car park beyond.

Levinia had used the guard to sneak out of the palace. To get away.

 _But why?_

Only one answer remained in his mind, and that jealousy morphed into sickening, nauseating fear. Rolling with sudden fury.

She was going to meet with the Southern Rebels.

"Er, Your Highness?" said a voice behind him.

Roy swivelled around – Rudy stood before him with his hands jammed into the pocket of a dark green hoodie, and his hair curled into a messy bun on his head. An overnight bag bulged from his shoulder, matching the small suitcase by his side.

One of his eyebrows could've taken off into outer space it was raised so high. "What on earth are you doing?"

 _Tick, tock_. If Levinia was going to see the rebels, then Roy had to follow before he lost his opportunity – he had to find out where their base of operations was, who their top members were, what they discussed. What their plans were.

Maybe he'd see Newton's Wife, or Satan the maid.

Maybe he'd see Walter Wolanski, the elusive leader of their evil organisation.

He dashed a look towards the door around the corner, uncaring how much attention he attracted. "Rudy – er, great, Rudy." An idea rammed into his head. "Quick – your hoodie. Give me your hoodie."

Alarmed, Rudy raised the other eyebrow to match. "My— what? Why?"

Levinia could be in her getaway car now, and he'd never catch up. But he would rather that than risk being recognised.

"No time to explain," Roy hissed, using his hands to suggest the urgency.

Rudy frowned, but obliged, dropping his bag and yanking the hoodie over his head – frizzing the loose strands of his hair – before handing it to Roy.

Roy slipped it on. Being shorter than Rudy, the hoodie was too big, and it smelt like bleach and window cleaner, but he didn't complain, throwing up the hood.

"I ask again, what are you doing?"

"Don't follow me," Roy said. "I'll be back soon."

Rudy's shoulders sank. "Don't follow— Roy, _wait_!"

But Roy sped around the corner and to the servants' entrance. The guard stiffened at his approach, and Roy pointed an accusatory finger at him. "If you don't want to lose your job from your shameless disregard of your duty, I suggest you shut your mouth and follow me."

The guard croaked out some form of apology, but Roy wasn't listening. He blitzed through the door and into the servants' car park underground.

It wasn't as vast as the garages for the limousines, but big enough for a multitude of cars. Ceiling lights sputtered in age, and the white lines painted on the ground were faded and chipped. It was full at the moment, for what, Roy supposed, was the night shift, but most of the cars consumed the silence.

Except one.

A small, undistinguishable blue car crept onto the ramp for the outside world just as Roy scrambled to see, but it disappeared into the nighttime air without fuss.

Roy jabbed a finger at the car. "Where was she going?"

The guard blanched. "Who, sir—?"

"Levinia Lefray! _The Selected_!"

"I—I don't know," he admitted with stutter. "But she— she goes quite often."

Roy clenched his fists. This wasn't a one-time thing. This was _frequent_.

He ignored the fact that this also meant the guard had committed multiple infractions. "Can you drive? Is your car here?"

The guard fumbled with his trouser pockets and produced a set of keys. "Yes, my car— it's over there."

He gestured with his head at a dingy brown bucket of bolts. Perfect for appearing inconspicuous.

Roy ran to it, grabbing the door handle. "Get in, and follow that blue car," he commanded.

The guard unlocked the doors, and Roy lunged into the backseat. The fabric seats were worn and puffy with old stains, and several McDonalds' takeaway bags had been flattened onto the floor like a greasy layer of skin. He resisted the urge to pinch his nose and glued his eyes to the exit as the guard started the engine.

"W-Why are we following this person, may I ask?" the guard squeaked.

Roy snapped on his seatbelt and growled, "You may _not_ ask."

The guard gulped in response, wrapping the seatbelt around himself, and pushed the car into motion – the suspension groaned as he pulled it up the ramp and into the open air.

Heart threatening to burst, Roy scanned the dark, hazy horizon. Thick evergreen trees frolicked in the breeze, crowded close together as if they could whisper secrets amongst themselves. Starlight filtered through the clouds, creating patterns of glitter and shadows across the lawns.

He kept his desperate eyes on the surroundings, growing terrified he'd lost Levinia – until he spotted, within the copse of trees, a dirt path tracked to the servants' entrance of the grounds. Hard to spot, Roy reckoned it was to mask the entrance from the royal inhabitants of the palace, since he'd never seen it before.

A blue car wolfed fuel, waiting by the guard's post of the entrance, and a spark of hope flickered to life within Roy.

He hadn't lost Levinia yet.

Wherever she was going, far or near, he'd follow her and find out the truth. Stealthy and silent. And if his suspicions were right, then he'd celebrate by locking her and her companions behind bars. Tonight would be the end of the Southern Rebels.

Tonight would be the end of the spy.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh schnap! Where is Levinia going?! Find out next time ;) Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Reviews, favourites and follows loved as much as I love strawberry ice cream (das a whole lot).

~ GWA

NTT: "The place was dismal and dark, and perfect to meet Southern Rebels."


	33. Green with Endeavours

The blue car, Levinia Lefray's getaway vehicle, rolled forwards by approval of the guard's station, and out of the main gate.

Roy made a mental note to fire them after this was over, too.

He gripped the unoccupied front seat, pushed so far back it squeezed his legs into an uncomfortably small space, and threw out his arm to point. "They're moving. Let's go."

The young guard in the driver's seat gulped loudly, before his rickety brown car chugged into motion. Night crawled over them, and the front lights of the car spat out white patches to make the dirt track visible. By the time they reached the guard's station, Levinia's getaway car had zoomed down the coil of the dirt track, blocked in view by the ginormous wall.

As the driver guard rolled down the manual windows, the station guard leant out of his shack. Gloves encased his hands as he reached forwards and rubbed his fingers together.

"Identification, please." He glanced at Roy. "Both of you."

They didn't have time for this. Though the driver guard fumbled for his ID, Roy yanked down his dark green hood and gestured angrily to his face. "Is _this_ enough?"

The station guard paled. "Y-Your Highness! What—"

"A Selected girl. She was in that car. Did you see her?"

The station guard shook his head. "There was only the driver in that last car, Your Highness. A maid," he stammered out, clearly perturbed at Roy's tone.

Roy hissed. She must have had an accomplice to drive whilst she hid in the backseat. No way would the guard let her out the gates if he'd seen her. Unless he was as lax as the driver was.

The station guard leant back into his booth. "Do you want me to alert—?"

"No," Roy said. "Don't do anything. Let us pass."

"Of course."

The barrier separating them between the palace and the world beyond lifted upwards, leaving the path free.

The driver guard squeaked, "Thank you," before he slammed down on the accelerator.

The car choked at the sudden desire for speed and dirt churned as they drove out of the safety of the walls, and followed the coil path. After a moment, the path lead to an intersection between two buildings, leading into a road split by left and right.

Roy had no idea where they were.

The driver guard inched the car forwards, and they spotted the tail end of the blue car driving towards the city of Los Angeles.

"There!" Roy yelled, and the driver guard obliged, shoving the car into the empty road and inciting chase between them.

Roy allowed himself a breather, and then pulled the hood over his face. All right, the hard part was out of the way, in following her out of the gate. Now came the harder part: staying unnoticed.

He noticed the driver guard's hands shaking as he followed the twists and turns of the road, which became wider and busier as they neared the city centre.

"What's your name?" Roy asked.

The guard gulped. "O-Officer Kidd. Tristan Kidd, Your Highness."

Kidd. He'd remember that. There did seem to be a youthfulness to him, no matter how much his neat brown hair and bushy eyebrows suggested otherwise. The acne scars that freckled his face gave it away.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, Your Highness."

 _Nineteen_. Roy's age.

That was a weird thought.

He sat back in his seat, the seatbelt loosening in relief, and crossed his arms, glaring into the mirror at Officer Kidd. "And why did you think it was _continually_ okay to let Levinia Lefray out of the palace, when there are strict regulations about leaving during the Selection?"

The landscape seemed to dip as they left the hilly countryside for the seaside city. Palm trees sprung from the pavements, and milky sea air permeated through the car. Twilight glittered with the neon signs and bright city lights, flickering ever closer in the distance.

Kidd's shoulders rose, and he followed the blue car onto an interstate. "She always said she had permission— and I always requested to see it, but she made up excuses every time." He sunk into his chair. "And then she'd say some… erm, very nice things to me, and I…"

At least he didn't lie about how much the flirting weakened him.

Roy scoffed. "Well, Officer Kidd. Let me be the first to tell you that no, she does _not_ have permission to leave, and secondly, that you could be done for letting her do so _and_ falling for her swindles."

It was strange to think that Levinia had probably whispered her sultry words to Kidd more often than she'd spoken to Roy. Perhaps she'd recycled her material to use on both of them. A marionette tangled in her fingers.

A sudden thought warred with his conscience. "Did she ever initiate _physical_ contact, beyond touching your jaw?"

"N-No, Your Highness!" he squealed. "She'd always stop before then."

Good. It wasn't the worse case scenario, then.

They trundled down the slip road into the city centre, and the skyscrapers loomed above them. Roy had been here, merely a day before, to find Rudy's apartment and apologise, and now he was here, searching for the base of the Southern Rebels.

The change staggered him.

He'd been to Los Angeles multiple times. When he snuck out for parties, the best places to go were the places not swarmed by singer celebrities or the TMZ tour guides. Secluded so that the press would never suspect spotting any famous presence.

Roy had loved _The Salt and Stars_ nightclub and bar, too, until one of the paparazzi found him there and captured the night on camera, unravelling this entire avalanche of events.

Traffic was thick, and the music from the town bars pounded against the steel frame of the car. Officer Kidd pulled the car to a stop at a traffic light, three cars behind Levinia's blue car. Light scents of Italian food and alcohol purged the McDonalds' stench of the interior, and Roy felt a sudden pang to drift into the streets incognito to enjoy himself.

When the traffic light turned green, the blue car turned into a smaller street, closed off from the gaping roads of Los Angeles, into a block Roy wasn't familiar with. The car's headlights swept across a thin, one-way road, where the walls were lined with dustbins and soggy cardboard boxes like a protective shield. Kidd waited by the turn-in until the blue car vanished around the corner before traipsing the car forwards, slinking behind like a lurking shadow.

The place was dismal and dark, and perfect to meet Southern Rebels.

"Kill the lights," Roy whispered, as if his voice alone could trigger alarms.

Kidd obliged, and they were plunged into darkness as he nudged them into the road. Only the smattering glimmer of far-off activity provided any form of vision. Gravel and grit rumbled beneath them, and the terrain was uneven enough for Roy to clutch the sides for safety.

Around the corner, they spotted Levinia's car slope down into an underground car park. The rebels clearly had some elusive meet-up, large enough to warrant their own space to park. Where did it lead?

After a moment, Roy gestured for Kidd to follow, and Kidd pulled the car into motion again. It nearly buckled from the gravity as they descended the slope into a busy car park, nearly every space taken. They'd lost Levinia within the littering of other cars, but with one staircase and lift, Roy could only hope it would eventually lead them to one, isolated place.

He unlatched his seatbelt and warily prodded the car door open, and cool, stale air rushed to meet him. Holding his shiver back, he crept out into the car park and closed the door. Kidd mimicked him and his attempted stealth, and Roy suddenly realised that he was still in his guard's uniform, slightly too big for him.

He cringed. "Wait, Officer Kidd." He nudged his head towards his jacket. "Take your jacket off, and leave it in the car."

Kidd seized up. "M-My jacket, Your Highness?"

"You're too recognisable as a palace guard. And hide your gun in your back pocket."

Looking like he wanted to disagree, Kidd reluctantly unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a bulletproof vest underneath a plain white T-shirt, and threw it into the car before he locked it. Then he tucked his gun under his belt.

"This way," Roy said, yanking his hood down over his face again.

Roy and Kidd tiptoed their way to the exits to the upper level, and though he abhorred the thought of going up a million staircases, he knew they could at least peek out of the stairwell door to scour their surroundings. If they took the elevator, they could be exposed to anything, and anyone, with nowhere to hide.

They climbed the staircase in dead silence, and Roy could hear the thunder of his heartbeat like a marching drum. Luckily, it hadn't been too many stairs, so he wasn't too out of breath walking up, and he cracked open the door.

A thick smell of sweat hit Roy first. The lights were dimmed, and a line of men in dress shirts and women in cocktail dresses patted their shoes against the velvet carpet in impatience. Roaring music pulsed from the rooms beyond the giant bouncers, where neon colours popped like fireworks in the dark.

Kidd squinted. "Is this a nightclub?"

A nightclub.

 _A nightclub_.

Roy's gut clenched at the realisation. Levinia was at a _nightclub_.

Suddenly, he had the thought that he'd made a very serious error.

He gulped, pushing down his doubts and forging his resolve in steel. No. This didn't mean anything. Perhaps Levinia was here to drink, sure, but there was still the chance she was meeting a rebel to pass information. It was crowded enough, by the looks of things, that she and any informants would go unnoticed.

Only one way to find out.

"All right, we need to go inside."

No sign of Levinia in the queue – non-premium queue, Roy recognised. A second door was open just further down the hall, with a sign saying _VIP_ tacked onto the red cords.

As much as Roy didn't want to alert anyone that he was here, he didn't want to have to wait with the rest of the club-goers. They didn't have the time.

If this truly was a rebel hideout, then it was possible that the bouncer would have the same Southern Rebel connection, and inform his superiors of Roy's whereabouts.

He suddenly really wished that he _had_ made that error.

Still, mustering his courage, he walked into the open, keeping his face down in front of the drunken patrons and shrill groups of women. He wove through the VIP area until he was in front of the bouncer.

Roy looked up, trying to school his face into neutrality. "Could you, er, let me pass, please?" he began, not sure how to tackle the situation.

The bouncer, luckily, instantly recognised him. "Prince Roy—?"

"Sssh!" Roy hissed. "I need to get in. Please let me through."

The bouncer gulped. "I—of course, Your Highness. But… this is a twenty-one and over club."

Roy waved a hand. "I'm not going to the bar. I'm just looking for a friend."

The bouncer didn't look to impressed, probably having heard Roy's club reputation, but still turned sideways and spoke into the walkie-talkie clipped onto his lapel. Roy peered behind him, desperate to see any sign of Levinia. There were hundreds of people on the dance floor and clogging up the bar, hundreds with dark hair or red dresses.

The bouncer's muttering faded. "Very well. You have permission to enter. Bar staff and security have been alerted to your presence. Thank you for coming to Stop Light Night at _Sugar and Frosting_ —"

"Sure," Roy said, pushing passed the bouncer into the hall.

Darkness swallowed him whole, despite the spotlights of variegated colours shining the two-story dance floors in deep greens, bright oranges and passionate reds. They coalesced together like the mingling of bodies, dancers and patrons, jumping up and down in tandem to the electric beat, fists punching the palpable air. The DJ on stage fiddled with amplifiers and audio outputs, jerking the record and barking into the microphone ad lib raps and lyrics. Sweat and alcohol scent soaked through the room, and Roy tried squash the kernel of desire inside him to join the hive and dance along.

Kidd trundled behind, and his T-shirt lighting up under the UV light. He bent over to Roy's ear level.

"Where do we start looking?" he yelled.

Roy had no clue. Levinia could be anywhere. He could feel the wind leaving him, his soul already begging to give up.

But he couldn't. He had to try at least. He'd followed her so far.

"Anywhere," Roy said. "Keep up with me, otherwise I'll lose you too."

He began with the dance floor – it was the easiest place to slip information from one person to another without being noticed, since bumping into strangers was inevitable. Taking a deep breath, which he immediately regretted since it tasted of body odour, Roy charged into the depths of the dancers.

The clamped to him, drunk or tipsy, savouring each ripple of the music. He glimpsed at each face who could possibly be Levinia – if she had black hair, and was tall, and was wearing red, he would check. But each time, he came away disappointed.

Roy tried to calm his own hammering heart as he slipped through the bodies – curiously, so many people had chosen to wear green tonight, and he wasn't sure why.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him to halt, and Roy was about to angrily scold Kidd – but, instead, he was faced with a woman. She couldn't have been much older than him, and her velvet, green dress clung to her.

"Hi there," she said, batting her eyelashes. "You're cute, and single? My lucky day."

He blinked – and suddenly, Roy realised. _Stop Light Night_. Wear red to symbolise that you were taken, orange for an open or complicated circumstance, and green… to symbolise being single.

Roy gulped, glancing down at the hoodie he stole from Rudy. _Of all the colours, why green?_ He was in the midst of the Selection, and though he was single, he definitely _wasn't_ available. He tugged the hoodie down over his face, suddenly wary he would be noticed.

"Sorry," he said, yanking his arm back. "Not interested."

A hurt frown crossed her, but Roy didn't give her the chance to reply as he meandered his way through the crowd, still searching. Several more women, stopped him during the songs, but Roy waved them all away – hoping it was enough to deter them from becoming more curious as to a why a green-garbed person rejected them all.

The air was a relief when Roy broke free from the dancers. He hadn't exhausted the search by any means, but no one that appeared to look like Levinia had actually been Levinia. They were better to try their luck elsewhere, even though the club was huge.

He crossed some steps up to a platform with a bar, glancing fleetingly around.

Another hand on his back – then, his hood, stroking.

Roy whipped around. Another woman wearing green – this time, far less modest than the last. She was definitely older than Roy, probably by four or five years, and her green crop top dipped low to reveal the tops of her breasts.

"A hood? How mysterious," she cooed, rounding around to his front and fiddling with the cords of his hoodie. "You have something to hide, boy? Maybe… your age?"

He gulped – she was close enough that he could feel it on his face, and he looked down at himself quickly and untangled her keen hands from her.

"Sorry, not interested," he repeated, for what felt like the umpteenth time.

A demure smile toyed with her lips. "Don't play games. You're wearing green. But you look way too young for this club. You must've had one great fake ID." She leant forwards again, so that he could see her face in clear-cut clarity. "But don't worry, I'll buy you a drink, cutie. I like a younger man."

The compliments struck him unexpectedly. Old Roy may have taken her up on the offer, maybe threw his title around for extra pizzazz, and then become so blind drunk that he would've made out with her all night.

Old Roy was on the way out. And New Roy clutched his true purpose close to his heart.

"I'm flattered, and I know I'm wearing green, but I'm really _not_ interested—"

Kidd suddenly grappled Roy from behind, pointing. "Your Highness! There she is!"

Elation poured into Roy – he followed Kidd's outstretched finger to the bar, where a girl in a blood red coat twirled a glass of alcohol. The scarf, it seemed, had been wrapped around her head.

The woman in front of Roy halted. " _Your Highness_?" she echoed.

Roy simultaneously wanted to clap Kidd on the back as he did on the face.

He'd said _Your Highness_. Talk about a dead giveaway.

Roy gulped down a cluster of nerves and shrieked "Gotta' go!" into her face before dashing towards the bar, with Kidd jogging behind.

He could only hope that woman didn't think much of the title.

He slipped through a minor crowd to come to Levinia. Her drink, some cocktail of some sort, was nearly empty, and he grabbed her and spun her around.

Levinia was startled at first, creasing her face into something threatening – far more threatening than Roy had ever seen. "Touch me again, and I'll—"

Realisation dawned on her as she recognised Roy.

"Your—" She stopped herself, so confused she closed her mouth shut and just stared as if he were a mirage, about to dissolve.

Roy nudged his head towards to doors, taking Levinia's arm before asking for her permission, but she followed without hesitation. The bouncer gave Roy an odd look as he passed through again, and they found an empty pocket of space in the lobby where Roy could finally hear his own thoughts enough to focus. Kidd blocked them both from wary eyes.

He dropped her arm. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

The scarf around her head had rustled her sharp, black hair. Her coat was unbuttoned, so her sparkly, hip-hugging dress glittered with the low light and her blood red lips were pursed in annoyance. Annoyed at Roy's tone, or being caught?

"I could ask the same thing to you, Your Highness," she said.

"Don't bounce this back to me," Roy said. "Why are you here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you _think_ I'm here?"

 _To meet the rebels_ , said that paranoid voice within him, egging him on. But he bristled and kept quiet instead, his glare intense.

When he didn't reply, she sighed. "I'm here to have a drink, relax, and forget about my life for a few hours."

His eyes searched her for any signs that she had passed information onto her superiors in the Southern Rebels about her time at the palace, but nothing seemed to suggest she was lying. Her glare matched his, equal in strength and vexation, and her arms crossed over her chest.

So Roy had made a stupid, _stupid_ error.

But how was he supposed to know?

He didn't blame himself, as the realisation sank in that she was just looking for some escape for a while. It was better to be safe, than sorry. Still, he wished he hadn't jumped to the worst conclusion and lunged into a wild mouse chase.

His diaphragm unclenched within him, which he didn't realise had been so tight until now.

"You know you're not allowed to leave the palace without explicit permission from—"

Levinia scoffed. "Oh, just another rule I must follow. And you see why I wanted to leave." She gave him a once-over. "Funny that you're here, after your glorious speech about _turning over a new leaf_."

"I'm not here to drink, or flirt, despite the colour I'm wearing," he pressed, knowing he would have to elaborate. "This was the only sweater I had to hand to stay inconspicuous, and I saw you leaving, so I followed, because I was— I was curious as to where you were going."

"You _followed_ me?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Why? Where did you _think_ I was going?"

Roy gulped. "It— It wasn't _where_ you were going. It's just that I was worried."

Technically, and yet not technically, a lie.

Levinia seemed to soak it up, expelling a sigh. "Well, I'm fine. I don't need you to babysit me."

One big misunderstanding. Of course.

Levinia cracked a smirk, before gesturing to the hall again. "Since you're here, I could do with some company."

"I'm not here to drink," Roy repeated.

But Levinia ignored him, slipping passed Kidd to the VIP bouncer, who let her pass again.

Roy grumbled, traipsing behind, and Kidd, too, followed.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

This time, instead of going to the main bar at the other end of the main hall, Levinia turned left at the entrance into a narrow corridor. At the very end was a set of stairs barricaded by a red-corded fence, and more bouncers.

A VIP lounge.

Passing the bounders, they came onto the mezzanine overlooking the floor below, with a bar, several sofas and a small wooden depression to dance on. It was empty up here, but the bar was mercifully clean and with seating, so Levinia took a seat in the middle, with Roy on her left, and Kidd waiting awkwardly a few steps away.

"Sex on the Beach, please. Double the vodka shots," she told the bar man, before gesturing to Roy. "He'll have a regular."

Roy tensed. "No, thanks. I'll have a water—"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Your Highness," Levinia scolded, as if she were talking to a child. "You can have a drink and _not_ get drunk."

She was right, of course. Even before, he'd been able to drink without getting drunk plenty of times. So, he let it pass, and when the bar man passed him a pinkish-orange cocktail with a slice of lime on the rim, he nursed the drink. It was surprisingly fruity, and the alcoholic taste was a mere afterthought on his tongue. Levinia's cocktail was far less vivid, though that was probably because of her double vodka shots.

Her lips seemed to discolour each time she gulped her glass, and before he'd even had a sip, she'd already downed hers to halfway. Seeing Levinia like this was so foreign, to Roy, that he didn't know what to say.

She beat him to it. "You look nervous."

Thinking on it, this was the first time he'd ever had a conversation with Levinia – a proper conversation – where he hadn't concentrated entirely on their previous trysts.

His insides chilled. Was this a date? Because it didn't feel like a date, and he didn't have any personal motivation to see this as a date. At all. That must have meant something on the relationship between them. That what they'd built together was easily dismissible.

Nerves huddled from his thoughts that Levinia had been seeing rebels, but now… knowing the truth, he didn't feel so much as nervous as relieved.

"I've had an unusual day," he eventually said.

Her mouth quirked, and she pulled down the scarf around her to her neck. Her sharp, black hair broke free, slinging itself across her shoulders. She must have been roasting.

"One of many in recent days, I assume."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"The Selection?"

Roy tilted his head back and forth. "Yes and no. You know the brunt of it."

She scoffed. "Well, you've wasted your worry on me. I doubt I was ever on your radar to win your Selection."

The starkness of her statement rattled him, and he swivelled on his bar stool to face her.

Levinia drank once more, taking the glass to quarter-full, before she replaced it on the countertop. "What's with the look?"

He frowned. This was taking an oddly deep turn. "Don't you think there's a possibility between us?"

She frowned then, but her eyes glossed with something. Like she was staring far away, with no intention of coming back to reality. "No. I doubt it. Very much." She petted his cheeks, but sadness sparkled like the liquids in her drink. "I've never looked at you and thought I could love you."

He tried not to be offended, because the words did sting, but he also knew the same – that their relationship had been manufactured on a superficial foundation.

She sipped her drink once. "It's not your fault. You do try, and I'll give you that. But…" she shrugged, "I suppose you aren't my type."

Then why had she bothered? Why did she enter at all?

Part of him already knew the answer. It was something he had feared, a tiny coil within him that remained for as long as his Selected did.

"You wanted the crown, then?" he said warily.

Merrick had warned him about it, that he would have to weed the bad apples from the genuine girls who loved and cared. He, of course, hadn't thought much of it, but considered it for the list of _People to Weed out of My Selection_ , joining the ranks of the spy. Now it was at the forefront of his mind.

And her increased grip on her glass confirmed his thoughts.

"You're not wrong," she said, with a hint of disappointment. "The wealth, the money, the… security. It's very appealing." She glanced at him, a soft melancholy radiating from her. "But not for me."

He narrowed his eyes. "Then for whom?"

"My future children."

Roy felt his veins go taut within him, and he clamped his mouth shut. _Future children?_

She looked at the bar, the many colourful bottles lining the shelves and attached to the taps, and fiddled with her glass. "How ideal a potential suitor would be if he were royalty. My kids would never have to worry about fortune or safety, not once. They would grow up to be magnificent." She chittered, mostly to herself. "I saw an opportunity with this Selection, and I decided to take it. I thought, perhaps, though I had no previous affection for you, it could change. Maybe… I'd suddenly find myself enjoying our intense kisses, or craving your company, or feeling my heart patter at the thought of you, but it's been months and… nothing."

Roy clenched his glass, his appetite to drink ever more doused than before. "So you wanted to use me."

A smirk tugged her ruby lips. "You're a smart boy. You would have figured it out eventually that I was trying to seduce you." A cackle burst from her. "Seduce! God, that makes me sound terrible."

Roy felt no sympathy when he said, "Yeah. It does."

She shrugged. "At least I'm being honest." Chuckle. "But it's come to a point where I've realised that it wouldn't work. You don't let your crown jewels rule you as much as you seem."

Roy blushed at the comment.

She continued. "And if I were to win, it would be a loveless marriage," she sagged, "which is much worse for a child."

Somewhere in Roy, a pang of sympathy tackled him and didn't let go.

She risked all this, endeavoured all _this_ , for her future children.

 _I show you some of my prowess, and in return, you must share something with me_.

It made so much sense now. She would trade moments of passion and lust… for a life of luxury for her future children.

Suddenly, her unusual relationship with Gail made sense. _Levvy_. She'd treated his little sister with so much tenderness because she saw almost wanted Gail for her own. Perhaps, she hoped to see little bits of Gail's whimsy and fun mirrored in her own, eventual offspring.

He remembered something else, too. On the Board, he'd written something next to her name as evidence to her being the potential spy.

 _Has no friends_.

"Why do you come here to relax, Levinia?" he asked. "Can't you… relax at the palace? With the other Selected girls?"

Levinia laughed. "No. The other girls don't like me."

Roy had expected it, and yet, that sympathy trickled through him like a slow rainfall. He remembered what Skye had said, about the undercurrent of jealousy amongst the girls, and he wondered how much a beacon Levinia was for it.

"Why?" he asked.

"I didn't come here to make friends. I came here for you, no one else. I pushed them all away, and those I didn't, I just used – I used them, hoping they would make idiots of themselves and get themselves eliminated." She finished the drink, but didn't request another. "I thought they would weaken me, but now I see… they are each other's strength."

"It's not too late. You can go back and say sorry. Like I did."

She shook her head. "Maybe, but that doesn't heal old rifts as large as the ones I left. The bridges I burnt. Besides," she grinned at him, "I don't think my confession here has put me back on that radar."

His heart battled with the two emotions, but one outcome climbed above the rest. Yes, Levinia was right. She wasn't going to survive the Selection another night. Not after this, and especially as his heart came to realise that he wasn't in love with her either.

She flicked her manicured nails at him. "I don't mind. I'd be quite happy to leave like this, actually."

He swallowed, though his throat wasn't parching. "But what about your desire for your… for your future children?"

"The Selection has shot my fame out of the park. I think I'll manage not winning you over." She twirled the glass, watching the ice cubes tinkle against one another. "And whilst I'm at it… maybe I'll try finding my own happiness, too."

That same sympathy gurgled into life within him, spreading a warmth through his body. Levinia had decided to take the time to pause, to think, about what she was doing. Perhaps his own apology had spurred her on to contemplate deeper about her life, and whilst it was admirable that she searched for a worthy husband for the sake of her children, he knew manipulating people wasn't the way to do it.

And now she knew it, too.

Roy leant forward on the bar, sipping the fruity drink to halfway. "I'm glad you will. You deserve happiness. Everyone does."

She laughed. "Drink going to your head already?"

He pouted. "Hey, I'm just trying to be nice."

"Well, I appreciate it." Pause. "I haven't had a conversation like this in a long time."

It wasn't hard to put the pieces together.

"You're lonely."

"That's why I was at the bar downstairs," she said. "Just the feeling of being around people was enough. Until you came along, of course."

It was hard now, not to feel bad for her.

"You're a celebrity, though. You have legions of fans."

She scoffed. "You of all people should know, Your Highness, that being a celebrity is the loneliest job in the world."

It tumbled around in his head. People knew every image of him projected in media, every facet of his personality. They chatted about him in the supermarkets, or gossiped about his latest shenanigans in talk shows, but the truth was in the basic principle.

All these people who thought they knew him, but didn't.

That was part of the problem he'd always carried. Even the _wild, irresponsible Prince Roy_ was only a fraction of his whole.

His mood plummeted. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"I know," she said. "I'm pretty wise."

He stuck out his tongue. "If that helps you sleep at night."

"It does."

For a long while, they sat together in a loud, beating silence. Roy managed to finish his drink, but by the time the glass emptied, he wasn't thirsty anymore. Levinia didn't have another drink either, absorbing the freedom like a slow burn romance.

"Well," she said eventually – the change was jarring. "We ought to be getting back."

No doubt Rudy had freaked out by now, given that Roy had stolen his hoodie and shot off without a second thought, and the rest of the palace's administration had no idea where he was either. Not to mention that, if he was caught by the papers, Ji-Yu would assume his pledge to be a better prince regent was all a fabrication.

"Yeah," he said. "Kidd will drive us back."

She laughed. "Good, because I lost the maid who drove me here to the dance floor."

Kidd seemed to pique at the mention of his name. "Will we be returning to the servants' entrance, Your Highness?"

"Yes," Roy said. "I don't want anyone knowing I was here tonight."

They replaced their disguises and coats before heading back down the stairs, and into the thin corridor, Kidd first. The dance floor opened out to them with the heavy scent of sweat that assaulted Roy once more, and he suddenly missed the ironic quiet of the upstairs.

Suddenly, a woman jumped out in front of them – it was the same woman in the low-cut green top. Her hair stuck out in all directions, contrast to her suave when Roy last encountered her, and she pointed at Roy.

"That's him! I found him! The prince!"

Fear bled into Roy, and he froze as if he was stuck in quicksand.

He'd been caught.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

At least fifty curious dancers with cameras – no, _paparazzi_ – swarmed forwards at the woman's promise of wayward royalty, and flashes exploded in Roy's vision.

Roy stood, gobsmacked for a moment, before Levinia seized his arm and retreated into the corridor with him. Kidd jumped into a starfish stance over the corridor entrance, gripping the slippery walls, and Roy shrunk as much as he could to his back to hide himself.

Levinia hugged herself as close as she could too. "Stupid press…!" she hissed. "How did they find us?"

Roy jabbed a thumb at Kidd's direction. "Slip-up."

The paparazzi burst out with a manic cascade of questions.

"Prince Roy, is that you?!"

"Why are you here, Your Highness?!"

"Is it true you're wearing green? Are your Selected not good enough?!"

Shrivelling at their accusing tones, Roy shouted desperately, "We have to get out of here, before they get any quality pictures. I can't have my mother think I was here to drink. I can't."

Levinia's face scrunched with determination, and intense calculation flashed behind her eyes. Without warning, she let Roy go and scurried down the corridor, cresting her scarf to hide her identity once more. The bouncers had vaulted into action at the appearance of the paparazzi, but there was little they could do to cull a rabid crowd.

They nodded at whatever Levinia was saying, gesturing to a fire door besides the staircase.

"This way!" Levinia called.

Roy tapped Kidd's shoulder. He was doing well to stop the paparazzi from trampling them, cramping so hard Roy could see his arm muscles pulling taut, and sweat dribbling from his armpits.

"We're leaving! Now!" he said to Kidd, before yanking his hood over his face – hoping, _begging_ , that none of the paps could see – and ran for the fire door.

Seconds later, Kidd released his grip to blunder after them, and the press flooded into the corridor.

Roy sprinted down the fire exit, behind the bouncer leading the way and Levinia. It led directly to the back entrance, where dustbins and dumpsters brimmed with fat trash bags and boxes of old produce. There were no lights here, so the darkness swirled around them, and cool air filtered through Roy. He might have sighed in relief if it weren't for the grim stench of rotten food and vomit.

The chase wasn't over yet. Roy dared to peek around, through the closing back door. The second bouncer had blocked the ravenous paparazzi by one of the corners, and they desperately continued to toss their questions or cram their cameras over one another to snap candid pictures.

Roy turned back, shivering suddenly. "Where's the parking lot from here?"

Luckily, there was another set of doors, identical to the stairwell in the car park. The bouncer propped them open. "My colleague will do all he can to keep them at bay."

"Thank you," said Roy breathlessly.

He, Levinia and Kidd took the steps two at a time downwards. The car park gaped up at them, its lights sputtering so that they could see.

They scrambled after Kidd, who seemed to have a honing sense of where he'd parked. Paparazzi frothed from the building's lift doors and stairwell, preparing to make chase.

Roy's heart lurched. How _desperate_ were they?

Kidd jammed the key into the car and unlocked. Levinia shoved Roy into the backseat, and he flattened on top of Kidd's guard jacket, before she toppled inside and slammed the door shut. The press spotted the car just as Kidd shut the door behind him.

"Go! _Go_!" Roy yelled.

"I am!" shouted Kidd back, fumbling with the keys.

The paparazzi descended on the car, surrounding them on all sides but the front. Roy threw his arms over his head, but the angry flashes of their cameras still blinded him. They yelled their savage songs over and over, screeching like parrots over food.

"Prince Roy! Prince Roy!"

"Why are you wearing green?!"

"Do the Selected know you're here tonight?!"

"Is that Levinia Lefray?!"

Finally, Kidd's car chugged, belching out an uncomfortable noise – it trundled into motion, and, like rats, the paparazzi scattered to avoid being run over.

It wasn't until they were out onto open road that Roy finally allowed himself more than a peek over his arms. Los Angeles road greeted him, wide and forgiving. Cars opposite above him hulked in SUVs and pickup trucks, but none of the drivers were interested in the boy in a green hoodie. The darkness was penetrated incrementally with lampposts.

He clutched his stomach, which reeled with adrenaline and thrill, before leaning his head back against the rest.

That was too close.

Levinia was panting. "Ugh."

Kidd gulped loudly from the front seat, and squeaked. "Are you all right, Your Highness, ma'am?"

Roy glanced at Levinia first. She worked her jaw, but smirked.

"Yeah, I'm… fine." She met Roy's gaze. "You?"

Roy didn't know what to think. He hadn't been out clubbing since before his Selection, of course, so he'd nearly forgotten the usual crowd of paps that liked to chase him. He'd also always checked into the VIP lounges, where none of the press were allowed – only the rich kids, celebrities, and royalty were, so he never had to worry about being ratted out.

This was the first time he'd been chased by anyone.

The newspapers would surely report this, but without a concrete photo, there wasn't much proof to their words. He hoped that they hadn't captured him in image.

"I'm fine," he managed, still breathless. "They're animals."

"They're probably paid per picture," Levinia said, relaxing into her seat. "Of course they're animals."

It saddened Roy somewhat. He thought of Clarity and Rainerd, the official palace photographers. Whilst he hadn't fired them, he had asked them to stay away after the trade meetings. Roy really didn't want photos of his most stressful time splattered all over the Internet. Still, knowing now that they were probably being paid badly made guilt turn over in his stomach.

The hillsides were a blessing once they came into view of the palace. Kidd's car somehow survived the journey, through the coiling country paths, passed the guard's station (Roy scolded the station guard for not conducting proper searches), and finally, back into the servants' car park.

Roy hadn't realised how much he cherished the smell of cleanliness. He shuddered, making his way back through the door with Levinia and Kidd.

He was surprised to see Rudy there, gesticulating madly. Durante, Gemima, Sashi, Captain of the Guard Delacroix, and a handful of other guards were present, too. One was taking notes.

"—just took off like a rocket, yelling at the guard on duty—"

Rudy stilted when he saw Roy.

"Your Highness!" he yelled, approaching with the entourage. "Are you all right? Where— where did you go?"

Roy clasped his hands together. The truth was private.

"Er… clubbing?"

"I do beg your pardon, everyone," said Levinia. She'd taken on her new persona – sultry, unforgiving. Still, she was drunk, and her words were slightly slurred. "Prince Roy was just looking out for me."

Sashi stampeded forwards – a terrifying anger blasted from her like heat from a furnace, and it looked like it took all the restraint of the world to hold her back from grabbing someone.

"Are you _crazy_?" she snapped, staring at Levinia. "Selected are _not_ allowed to leave the palace without express permission from either myself or the royal family! And you disobeyed that one, _simple_ rule!"

Roy's gut dropped. He'd never seen Sashi so _angry_.

Neither had Levinia, apparently, as widened her eyes. Still, she didn't shrink until Sashi's gaze.

"I'm sorry," Levinia said. "It was stupid of me."

"Too right!" Sashi said, flinging up her arms – which, in turn, flung up the swathes of her sari. "This nearly became an event of national security. And— you went _clubbing_?" This time, she focused on Roy and Levinia equally. " _Why_?"

Roy opened his mouth, but Levinia cut across smoothly. "No. I went clubbing. He was only concerned for me, and so followed."

Her fury swapped between them, before she crossed her arms. Her hair, usually a mess, was twice as bedraggled as usual. "You could have at least had the audacity to let me know, Miss Lefray. I'm very disappointed in you." Her gaze pinned Roy. "And don't think I'm not disappointed in you, too, Your Highness. Going out without telling anyone, and only with one guard?"

Captain Delacroix grunted. "And an unexperienced one, at that," he said. "Officer Kidd is one of our newest recruits."

Kidd stiffened. The redness of his face suggested he knew exactly how embarrassing it was.

Roy swallowed his intimidation. "Levinia and I have had a chat, and we've agreed that she should no longer participate in the Selection. As for Officer Kidd…"

Guilt lapped over him. The newest recruit, so easily manipulated by Levinia. He should have fired him for going so blatantly against every rule conceivable. Instead, he sighed.

"Officer Kidd protected us from— er, from a host of fangirls, back at the club. So he did his job."

Delacroix scrunched up his cheeks in consideration. "Thank you, Your Highness. If I could be allowed to speak to Officer Kidd in private."

Pause – Kidd's arm twitched when he realised Delacroix was talking to him. "Oh, yes, sir – but, erm, could I fetch my jacket first?"

Delacroix's face sagged in disgruntlement, but he flicked his hands. "Yes, yes. Go on."

Kidd scuttled back through the car park door.

Sashi spoke. "I hope the press didn't catch wind of your appearance, Your Highness." She fixed him with a stern look. "We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong impression from your night out."

Roy gulped, preening his best smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rudy raise an eyebrow – no doubt, seeing right through it.

Levinia nodded her head. "I hope so." She turned to Roy. "Well, I must pack for my departure. It's been an honour."

She sketched a brief curtsy, before strutting through the crowd, and away.

At least she could leave with swagger.

Kidd returned with his jacket and left, too, with Captain Delacroix and his guards. Gemima, once making sure Roy was all right, disappeared as well. Only Sashi, Rudy and Durante remained.

Sashi planted her hands on her hips, still unimpressed. "I hope this'll be the last of these escapades, Your Highness."

"It is, I promise," Roy said.

She twisted her lips, before sighing, petting him on the head, and walking away.

Roy pulled off the hoodie and handed it back to Rudy. "Thanks for this, it helped."

Rudy took it back with his cheeks pinched, probably smelling the nasty club stench and grime.

Durante cocked his head. "I couldn't help but think…" he dropped into a whisper, "that this was a spy endeavour, Your Highness?"

Clarity brightened in Rudy's eyes when Roy nodded, and Durante's smile turned grim.

"I thought Levinia was going to meet with the rebels," said Roy, wincing. "But I was wrong. Really wrong. Turns out she was just going to party."

"And now you've eliminated her," said Rudy. "That leaves fourteen Selected candidates."

 _Fourteen_.

Such a stark difference from thirty-five.

"Not many options left now," said Durante.

Not many indeed.

Roy remembered their Board meeting, which had only happened a week or so ago. It felt like eons. Though he had crossed Levinia off as potential spy, there were still so many variables and possibilities. Lilly and Eulalia's argument. Luna's ability to speak Korean. Elise's mystery trips.

Camilla's disappearance during the evening before the fashion show.

Roy clenched his hands together. "Did you find out about Camilla Daugherty?" he asked. "Did you ask her maids and guards whether she was in during that night?"

A moment passed before Durante's eyebrows lifted on his forehead in recognition.

"Yes, I did. I did find out."

Rudy scowled. "And why didn't you inform either of us earlier?"

Durante straightened, suddenly finding interest with his feet. "By the time I found it, you were no longer in employment here, and I suppose… my annoyance with His Highness got the best of me." Pause. "And then I forgot."

Rudy opened his mouth, but shut it again, red blossoming on his cheeks. His scowl remained, of course, and he stared fiercely at the wall.

Meanwhile, Roy winced. "I guess that's fair. I've been rather… distracted, lately." He collected himself. "Please tell me now, though."

Durante didn't look at all proud.

"I found the guards, and the maids, and… she wasn't present during the night before the fashion show, and she dismissed her escorts that day," he said, taking a deep breath. "In fact, it turns out, Camilla Daugherty… frequently disappears without a trace."

* * *

 **A/N:** Dun dun duuun! Did the paps catch Roy in the act? And what's Camilla up to?! Hope you enjoyed!

Thanks to ShadowDude90 for Levinia Lefray, another one of my favourites! She was a challenge to write for me (snog sessions are so awkward lol), but I think she stretched me, in that way. Not meant to be for Roy, though!

I still haven't finished 34 so I'm going to delay for two weeks - but don't worry, Select Few will update in the meantime, from the POV of one of the Selected... ;) Reviews, favourites and follows loved!

~ GreenWithAwesome

 **NTT:** "Are you, perhaps, looking for the word _asshat_?"


	34. Prince Roy is (Not) Bae

Levinia Lefray left that next morning, and it took all of Roy's force to be able to peel a sobbing Gail from Levinia's legs. Gail cried for the next ten minutes after she'd left, too, and it carved a hole in Roy's heart. He'd had to explain that, unfortunately, the Selection process could be brutal.

Gail had adamantly told him that, when she had her own Selection someday, she wouldn't eliminate anyone, and they'd all have a big sleepover in her bedroom every day. Roy had laughed, trying to picture all thirty-five of his own Selected girls crowding into his bedroom, and it had made Gail laugh enough, too, that her crying stopped, and she went to play with the other Selected girls.

Still, his thoughts were plagued by Durante's latest report: that Camilla Daugherty had frequently gone missing during the time of the fashion show –vanished for a few hours during these latest few weeks. Where she was going, and what she was doing, remained a mystery that burdened Roy's shoulders as much as his duty as Prince Regent. Was she a rebel, or was her help during the fashion show a genuine concern for his welfare?

Gail's tears had stained his shirt, so after changing into another, Roy headed towards his office to complete the day's tasks. More signature requirements, more reforms to pore over, more proposals to review. The only thing he looked forward to today was his date with Alisa Orlov, after dinner.

When he reached the West Wing and rounded the corner towards his office, he stopped short at the sight of Alex and Barney, with a guard Roy didn't recognise, lingering outside his door.

He scowled, reluctant to approach them. What did they want _now_?

Alex's grin warped his contentment into a bold sneer when Roy came up to them.

"Good morning, Fitz," he greeted, unusually chipper.

Hiding something. Definitely hiding something.

Roy groaned, "What do you two want?"

Barney brought his hands from behind his back, his face scrunched up in… was that disappointment? His hands clutched a magazine.

Roy's heart blundered. _A magazine_.

There would be only one reason why Barney would have a magazine. If he had something to boast about.

The front cover picture of _Los Angeles Today_ was blurry, but unmistakably Roy – his hands shielded his face, but he hadn't quite covered himself before the picture was snapped. His horrified frown captured the shock enough.

 _PRINCE ROY SEEN IN NIGHTCLUB – SELECTED NOT SATISFYING?_ read a spiky speech bubble.

Ice slid down Roy's veins, and he had to clench tightly to the urge to shred the magazine into pieces, before he revealed how frustrated and annoyed he was.

" _I pledge to do my best to be the best Pwince Wegent ever_!" mocked Alex, pitching his voice high. "What a load of poppycock. You went out last night, and this proves it."

Roy growled. "It's not what you think," he argued, knowing it was useless, and pretty much akin to talking to a brick wall. "Levinia Lefray went out last night, and I accompanied her because I was worried about her."

Barney flicked the page over to the article. Another, granier picture of Roy and Officer Kidd filled the page, with the columns of incriminating text underneath.

"Yes, the article mentions that you went with Lady Levinia to the nightclub." Barney's eyebrows furrowed. "But it also says you were wearing a green jumper to a Traffic Light Night."

Stupid, stupid Roy and his luck of grabbing a green hoodie. Stupid, stupid nightclub and their Stop Light Night.

He sighed, unsure how he was going to frame this. Eventually, his brain muddled something together. "I tried to go incognito, so as not to be recognised, and— and I went on whim, so I didn't really know what to wear. I borrowed the hoodie from my valet. I had no idea it was Stop Light Night."

Alex cocked an eyebrow. "And why didn't Lady Levinia tell you, if you went with her? She was wearing red."

Indeed, Roy scoured the article. It did mention that the famous Levinia Lefray had also been spotted, but her red coat was utterly distinctive, and a bold sign that she wasn't looking for anyone to flirt with her. Something Roy should have echoed.

He gulped. "She didn't tell me."

The laugh that barked from Alex's mouth was guttural and harsh. "Honestly, you spin so many lies you can't even keep up with them yourself." He smirked. "Did you drink?"

Roy swore in his head.

"I— I did. But only one cocktail. By Levinia's request."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Oh, _of course._ How convenient." He crossed his arms, suddenly undertaking a serious face. "You can't be trusted at all, Fitz, can you? I wonder what your mother will say when she sees this article in the magazine."

A sick roll of nausea swept through him, and Roy bit down on his stomach. "You wouldn't."

Alex scoffed. "Of course I would. I may not like you, but I pity the country you must oversee enough that I cannot stand to see you drag it through the mud. And, quite frankly, I'm fed up with your lack of discipline."

Roy clenched his fists. "I wasn't lying—"

"So," Alex cut him off, "I've decided to take matters into my own hands."

That couldn't be good.

Alex gestured to the guard. A woman, with brown skin – probably a mixture of black and Caucasian race – and hair tied in a dark brown braid running passed her shoulders. One strand freed itself from the braid, curling into a thick ringlet over her freckled forehead.

She was the tallest of all of them, and probably about Durante's age. Her broad arms swung with the force of a hammer when she saluted.

"An honour to work in your service, Prince Roy!" she chirruped, far peppier than Roy ever imagined a guard could be.

Roy deadpanned at Alex. "Sorry, who is this?"

"This is Officer Robin Acketeer. Your new escort guard."

 _Escort guard?_

Of course. Alex and Barney proposed, at that wretched meeting before his parents had left for Brazil, that Roy have a guard escort him at all times. To make sure he wasn't sneaking anywhere to drink.

Obviously, his stunt last night had pushed them to commute the decision.

He gritted his teeth. Despite the warnings, he was still going to fight it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Acketeer—"

"Or just Robin, if you prefer, Your Highness," she said, grinning.

His eye twitched. It was as if she was involved in an entirely different conversation.

"Thank you, _Officer Acketeer_ , but," he panned to Alex and Barney, snarling, "I don't _need_ an escort guard. I have my own bodyguard who does his job just fine."

"Ah, yes, Officer Joseph Durante," said Alex. He didn't look at Roy, instead, picking his nails. "I fear he has been neglecting his duty to guard you."

Roy's blood boiled. "He doesn't _follow me everywhere_ , you mean. I tell him when he may accompany me and when he is best guarding my bedroom door."

Alex's fixed him with a nonchalant glower. "That's the problem. Officer Acketeer has told me information that puts to question Officer Durante's reliability as your guard. Apparently he seems to have some… close relationship, with your valet?"

The air seemed to thicken, and Roy's throat burnt with a thousand swear words, Korean and English. Why the hell did Alex know about _Rudy and Durante_? Why the hell did _Acketeer_ know about them? Loathing poured into Roy for the twins, and Acketeer, who had said a grand total of two sentences to him, but had done far worse in less.

He snapped with venom. "That's none of your _damn concern_ , and that certainly doesn't cloud his judgement!"

"It might not, but it means your valet has influence over him. So if you told your valet not to speak about your drinking habits, your valet may pass the message to Officer Durante. And Officer Durante will continue to treat your alcoholism laxly, which we cannot have."

Steam could have exploded from Roy's ears. " _I do not have an alcohol prob_ —"

Alex waved him away. "Officer Acketeer has agreed, for an additional salary, to watch over you everywhere you go. Of course, you may still employ Durante as your bodyguard, though with Acketeer, he will be mostly redundant."

He couldn't believe this. He was being _coerced_ into having a permanent shadow. How could he focus on romance with Acketeer in the room, or concentrate on spy problems when Acketeer hovered over his shoulder?

"This is a total invasion of my privacy," he snarled.

"You lost such a privilege when you took advantage of our kindness. You used your second chance yesterday evening, when you went clubbing." Alex clasped his hands together, and his eyes flashed from up the bridge of his nose. "The royal court have conceded with me on this decision. It is final for as long as they agree so."

He couldn't imagine Gemima agreeing to any such idea, but she was one in many. Madam Tremaine certainly wanted to sink her fangs into him, and Roy was sure that Ramsbottom couldn't have agreed fast enough. No doubt, the people on his side were the minority.

Officer Acketeer gulped, and her voice wavered with less certainty. "I will do my best to serve you, Your Highness."

Roy had half the mind to tape her mouth shut. Why did she have to tell Alex and Barney about Durante's private life? Why was it any of her, or their, business?

"I'm keeping Officer Durante," he muttered.

Alex shrugged. "Very well, but it's only another salary you have to pay. Officer Acketeer will continue to do her job regardless of his presence." He fluttered his hand. "Barnabas and I have business to attend to. Enjoy the rest of your day."

He began down the corridor – Barney hadn't followed him like usual.

Roy bore his teeth. "Go on, then. Follow him."

Something distant flashed in Barney's eyes. He just shook his head.

"You don't have any proof as to the contrary. No proof that you weren't there to drink and take lovers."

Roy butted his hands against his hips, fury blasting through him. "Of course I don't have any _damn_ proof, you idiot! You think I brought my camera along? Made a voice recording? Wrote in my secret diary? _Dear journal, today I went to a club to help one of my friends!_ "

Pause. Barney didn't take the words to heart, and he continued to regard Roy strangely.

"It's… not the end of the world. Don't be so angry," he said, eventually. "Just… put up with Officer Acketeer until you can be trusted. You won't even notice her."

Red crackled at the edge of Roy's vision. God, he was just being so… so _annoyingly nice_. After the continuous sucker punches Alex pulled, why was Barney trying to make some attempt at companionship? Roy neither wanted it, nor needed it, and he certainly didn't want his stupid pity.

The words blistered him, but at this point, Roy was beyond caring. "Levinia has left, and the magazine twists the truth, but you decide to trust _it_ instead of me. You, of all people, who know how tabloids like to conjure and warp their own stories about the lives of royals." He spat a laugh. "You force a guard to _follow_ me everywhere, and you use my bodyguard's personal life against him _and_ me to suit your scorn. So, excuse me if I come across as _angry_ to you, but I think it is _entirely warranted_."

Something shifted in Barney's face – his eyes glittered, understanding and knowing. There was absolute truth to Roy's words. Barney knew it, and Roy _knew_ that Barney knew it.

"It's too late," said the twin.

"No, it's not," Roy snapped. "Withdraw your proposal, or convince the court that I don't require a goddamn _babysitter_."

"Barnabas!" Alex called, at the other end of the hallway. He beckoned for him like how one calls a dog.

Barney's eyebrows knitted together, and he straightened. "There's nothing I can do."

He left with Alex around the corner, and away.

Stewing and sick all at once, Roy clenched and unclenched his fists, and survived the storm within him. He'd wanted to smash those stupid twins in the face many times, but none more so than now. They were callous and spiteful, and couldn't even leave Roy alone for a few simple days. This palace was huge – so why did he have to keep running into them, and why did they have to shove their unruly noses into his business?

Roy spared a glance at Officer Acketeer, who was still ramrod-straight by his door, staring absently at the hallway beyond. Her smile had vanished.

It was going to be impossible to have spy talks or dates with her around. And he might not have minded her as a person, if she didn't have the gall to yap about Rudy and Durante's private life.

Controlling his shallow breaths, he unlocked his office door. "So, what, you have to stay inside every room with me, now? You think I have alcohol locked in my filing cabinets?"

Acketeer bit her lip at the sharpness of his tone, but her words didn't hesitate. "I've been asked to perform a sweep of every premises you plan to stay before standing outside, sir, as well as frisking people who enter your premises."

 _Sweep?_

This was genuinely the most invasive thing he'd ever endured. Worse than the paparazzi.

Roy's blood chilled with a sudden thought. How the heck was he going to keep her away from the Board?

Dammit. _Dammit_. He was going to have to ask Rudy to hide it somewhere each time he returned to his room.

"And when," he asked, "can I expect a morsel of privacy returned to me? Do you intend to search my _bathroom_ , as well?" He said this with a scathing, mocking tenor, hopefully to conceal the real fear he felt from it.

Acketeer shook her head, and her plait followed. "Until a point at which I believe Princes Alexander and Barnabas would be able to trust you, and your personal serving staff are vetted."

This was beyond ridiculous, and he hoped, with every fibre of his body, that Ji-Yu would tear that stupid agreement in two upon her return. Right in front of Alex and Barney.

She'd understand why he had to go to the club last night.

… Right?

Sighing, he allowed Acketeer into his office for her to perform a brief sweep, and Roy used the opportunity to shoot Rudy a text on his phone.

 _A &B r douchebags. Assigned stalker guard. She's searching my office 4 alcohol, will search bedroom._

 _Hide the Board_.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Night crawled through Roy's curtains in gem-coloured tones, deep blues and flickers of starlight grey, and Roy was more than happy to sign the last document that he'd been putting off for the week. Even eating dinner in his office hadn't helped to expedite the process, but now he was just glad to be done. He shoved them into his drawer and leant back, releasing a breath.

At least now he had a date to look forwards to.

Officer Acketeer lingered outside his door when he locked up for the night. Her mood seemed to have sky-rocketed, and she smiled brightly as she saluted.

"Good evening, Your Highness," she said. "Are you finished for today?"

Still annoyed at her, he grumbled, "Yes. Don't tell me this" – he gestured to them both – "arrangement is a twenty-four hour thing?"

She shook her head. "Nope! When you turn in for the night, I do too, and when you wake up in the morning, so do I."

He frowned. It was even more rigorous than Rudy's schedule, who at least had days off throughout the week. But Roy had no reason to complain – she was the one slaving away in his presence, not him.

"Well," he said, "I have a date tonight."

She seemed to straighten, and her grin faltered. "Then I must accompany you to that, as well."

Roy fought the urge to strangle his suit jacket, and instead, opted for a much more professional smile. The Twinces weren't joking about this guard, and although he admired her dedication, it was way more trouble than it was worth.

She followed Roy to his bedroom, where he freshened up – Acketeer, indeed, sniffed his bedroom and bathroom for any traces of alcohol like a police dog, but was pleased to find nothing but his boxer shorts or tie clips within his drawers. Rudy had done as asked, and hidden the Board somewhere safe. Roy hoped.

When he arrived outside of Alisa's bedroom door, Acketeer rocked on her heels, her large gait looming over Roy – obviously intensely curious. Her shadow was strewn across the door, a patch of black against the warm glow of the wall scones.

"Can you… not?" Roy said.

She gulped, stepping back. "My apologies."

Roy swept the miniscule dust from his jacket, double-checked his breath, and psyched himself up one last time. Then, he knocked.

Alisa's maid opened the door and curtsied.

"Your Highness," she said. "Lady Alisa is nearly ready. If I may ask that you wait outside for a few moments."

He nodded in agreement, and she shut the door. Shuffles, squeaks and scurrying could be heard on the other side, and Roy found himself intensely curious as to what was going on within.

Acketeer cocked her head to one side. "Where will you be going?"

For a guard, she was incredibly nosy. Maybe that was why she knew enough about Rudy and Durante to spill the beans to Alex and Barney. It made Roy's eye twitch.

"The kitchens," he mumbled. "You aren't going to hover like that the whole time, are you?"

She shook her head, apparently nonplussed by the backhandedness of his comment. "Not at all, sir. I just need to make sure you're far from the cellars."

Right. He probably wouldn't even be allowed the luxury of a glass of champagne to go with his date, but he hoped that Alisa wouldn't be put off by the guard's presence.

The door opened, and Alisa stepped out. Instead of the bun, it was pin-straight, locked into a tight fishtail braid, but it had been embellished with several diamante clips that glittered like a river in moonlight. Her top was simple black, with a scooping neckline and three-quarter length sleeves, where her muted blue skirt was dotted with white flowers.

She dusted herself down, suddenly flushed to her cheeks. "I— ah, how do I look?"

She did look exquisite. Not at all like she was going into a kitchen to cook. But, then again, Roy was wearing a suit, so neither of them had chosen appropriate garb. He supposed it made it more fun.

"You look stunning," he said, offering his arm.

Alisa wavered at the door, probably aware of how close Acketeer was standing. Roy sighed, lowering his arm.

"This is Officer Acketeer. She'll be… er, joining us. From afar."

She curtsied to Acketeer despite the fact that she was higher caste, and Acketeer saluted.

"I wish you a spectacular date, ma'am," Acketeer said, grinning.

"She was Alex and Barney's idea. Wouldn't you know it," muttered Roy.

Alisa's eyebrows furrowed at that, and she studied Acketeer quietly. Perhaps trying to see how Barney's scheme fit with Acketeer's inclusion.

Roy had every intension to ask about the two of them today. He had to _know_.

He offered his arm to Alisa again, which she took, and together they ambled down the hallways and staircases until they reached the kitchen entrance in the servants' wing. Acketeer padded behind – not silent enough for Roy to pretend she wasn't there, like a persistent fly over a picnic.

The thick perfumes of meat and fish wafted into Roy's nose, and, even though he was full from tonight's dinner, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the scent. Alisa seemed to lean in, too, her natural instincts as a human and a chef working against her better judgement.

The kitchen staff had been alerted beforehand about Roy's impending date, so hopefully they'd cleared an area for Roy and Alisa to cook. It wouldn't require too much equipment, and he hoped that the staff would leave them alone. Didn't need any more curious Acketeers looming over them.

The attendants opened the door, and a bustling scene enveloped Roy's vision. Countertops that stretched to the far end of the kitchens were covered in dusts or spices or thick, gooey doughs. Pots and pans belched steam and bubbled heavy broths, and gleaming knives sliced through meat and vegetables of all sorts. Warmth flooded into Roy. He nearly melted like butter upon striding in, his suit suddenly stifling.

The head chef, a thin, old woman aptly named Thyme, peeled through the hustling station chefs and prep cooks towards them. Her apron was covered in stains and blotches, but it didn't stop the grand smile on her pale face. Her hair was covered in a net.

"Welcome to the kitchens, Your Highness, my lady. If you'll follow me, I can give you a quick tour."

Roy glanced at Alisa for approval – she had lit up, her eyes sparkling as much as her hair clips. A big grin had swallowed her whole, and her attention was wholly focused on the surroundings.

"Wow, the kitchens— it's so big! And it smells divine!" A giddy giggle escaped her. "Even after dinner, everyone is working so hard!"

Thyme nodded her head. "Absolutely. We must prepare what we can in advance for tomorrow's meals. Marinating meats or brewing soups, for example, are best made in advance." She half-turned, and ushered for them to follow. "We have stations for every type of meal. Please, follow me."

Alisa bounced after her, dipping her head over every countertop they passed. To smell. To taste. To admire. Roy struggled to keep up with her energy.

By the time they'd seen the butcher preparing pork for tomorrow, tasted some icing for a red velvet cake, stirred a salty chicken gravy, and even watched ice cream being made from scratch, Roy was tuckered out. Alisa, however, was only just starting. He'd never seen her so vivacious, or full of life.

Thyme rounded them back towards the front doors, to an alcove in the wall, more private than what Roy was expecting. Two pristine aprons hung from the racks, and Roy's requested equipment and ingredients lay hidden under a checked tea towel.

Alisa clapped her hands together. "This is so exciting!"

Thyme chuckled. "Well, I hope you enjoy yourselves. If you require anything at all, please feel free to ask anyone, and we will do our best to accommodate you."

"Thanks," said Roy.

"Yes, thank you!" chirruped Alisa.

Thyme grinned at her enthusiasm, before bowing out – nearly running into Acketeer, whose eyes had narrowed to slits. On the hunt for alcohol.

Roy resisted the urge to snort. Instead, he cleared his throat.

"Lady Alisa," he said, plucking the corner of the tea towel. "You may recall, in your submission form, I asked what your favourite food was. And granted, I didn't really take it with me to memory, and my mother thought the question was stupid, but alas. It has a use. What did you put down?"

Her lips puckered. "I think… I think I put down… waffles?"

Roy grinned, yanking off the tea towel in dramatic fashion. Revealed were jars of flour, salt and sugar, baking powder, eggs, vegetable oil, milk and a very large waffle iron – stainless steel, with the inside pocked with holes for the distinctive waffle shape. Other ingredients he'd included for toppings, such as whipped cream, strawberries, blueberries, bananas, Nutella, butterscotch sauce, and some oddities like rose-flavoured spread and lemon curd.

"We're going to make waffles?!" Alisa cried.

"Hence the waffle pan, yes."

Alisa cupped her face. "Oh – I haven't had it in so long!" Her glossy eyes rounded to him, wide and awed, and she shied suddenly. "Thank you."

He laughed. "Don't thank me yet. We still have to _make_ them."

They adorned their aprons – Roy's had _Kiss the Chef_ written on the front, whereas Alisa's had _Prince Roy is Bae_ on the front. She burst into a fit of silly giggles when she noticed, marrying with her red face.

"You can keep it after we're done," he said, winking.

She snort-giggled again. It was hard not to find it irresistibly adorable.

Together, they weighed the ingredients. Thyme had left an age-old palace recipe for waffles that was probably written in a time before electronic mixers. Still, Roy had opted for as little electronics as possible, so they were to use a classic brown mixing bowl and a steel whisk. It was more personal.

Alisa hand was far more practiced as she cracked the eggs, and sifted the flour. She let Roy try the later – and somehow he'd managed to sieve it onto himself.

It was _really_ obvious he'd never cooked anything in his life.

Alisa mixed the ingredients together in one bowl. Hardly a stain had blotted her apron, her dress or face. Still as spotless as when she'd first started.

She pushed the bowl to Roy, the whisk inside.

"Would you like to try?"

His arm began to ache after approximately two seconds of whisking.

"I think my arm is going to fall off," he admitted, after a minute of endurance. "How do you do it?"

"You get used to it," she replied. "I've been cooking nearly my whole life. My mother taught me, and then I found work with a family of Twos. And that was that."

He tried to picture it. Alisa, and a bunch of people who looked and sounded like Alisa, running around to serve another family in a large estate. Such a change, he figured, from being waited on here.

"Did you enjoy it? Working for the family?" he asked, passing the bowl back to her. His arms sagged in relief.

She smiled grimly, taking the bowl and whisking the ingredients together – something about her technique and dogged determination suggested years of experience. "They treat me well, but I don't often see them – I mostly just receive their meal requests. Sometimes they come to visit the kitchen, but not often. My brother, Yulian, also works for them. As a butler. And, well…"

She lifted the bowl to inspect the waffle concoction they'd made. Doughy and sweet, the scent danced into Roy's nose. He couldn't wait to slather on some Nutella and eat until he was stuffed.

Still, he noticed Alisa's wavering sadness.

"Yulian doesn't enjoy his position?"

Alisa bit her lip, as if she'd betrayed too much, spoken too ill of her former employers. "He waits on their daughter, a lady named Francesca. She often… parades him around, like a show horse. Uses him. It is not very pleasant."

Roy choked on the air. "Wait… she _uses_ him?" Horror grasped him. "Like… sexually?"

Alisa burnt pink and shook her head fiercely. "Oh, no, no! Well, I hope not…" She cleared her throat, obviously deciding that the mixture needed more love from the whisk. Or maybe she needed to distract her hands. "But Lady Francesca does use him to flirt with and kiss. Shows him off to her friends. He despises it, but… what can he do?"

Roy couldn't imagine. Sure, poor Rudy often had the worst jobs in the world, but Roy didn't abuse him, or treat him like dirt. Guilt wrestled with him.

"And what about now? Has Yulian left?" He could imagine her whole family's life changing after Alisa was chosen for the Selection.

Her smile relieved him. "Not yet, but the Selection funds are helping. He will leave soon."

"Well, if he wants a job, he can have one here," Roy said, not thinking much of it. "You won't find anyone here wanting to use him like that." _Not under his watch_.

Alisa first froze, but then eased into a grin. "Thank you. That is most kind of you." She released the bowl and clapped her hands together. "I'll let him know."

Roy lifted a finger sagely. "But first: waffles."

She grinned her agreement. "The mixture is ready."

The waffle pan sizzled upon contact with the mixture, but each pocked hole filled with thick, beige liquid. Roy salivated at the mouth and watched eagerly as Alisa closed the pan lid. Something hissed.

"Now to wait for it to cook," she said.

"What're you gonna' put on your waffles?" he asked hurriedly, so excited his stupid brain mushed his words together. "I'm thinking Nutella, Nutella, and… more Nutella."

She giggled. "I'm more of a fruit person myself. Do you have any watermelon?"

"Watermelon? Er…" he scoured the produce. Upon quickly realising watermelon was never going to be amongst them, he glanced at Acketeer. "Could you ask Thyme to grab us some slices of watermelon?"

Acketeer, standing to complete attention, lifted her head. "I'm afraid I cannot leave you here without an escort."

"You've already done your sweep. I don't have any secret stashes of alcohol here."

Acketeer squirmed. "Regardless, I cannot leave your side."

"Don't worry about it," Alisa squeaked.

"No, no, it's all right," said Roy, trying to quell the rising annoyance bubbling like a flow of lava. "I'll find Thyme myself."

Acketeer marched robotically behind Roy as he wove through the kitchen countertops and workstations until someone came to help him – they did have fresh watermelon, it turned out, and a whole one sliced was brought to their table.

Now Acketeer was making Roy look bad in front of his date. He wasn't sure how more vexed he could become before he chucked jam at her head.

Clearing his throat and shooing away his negative thoughts, he regarded Alisa again. "Here we are, one watermelon. Fresh from the market, of course." He felt his stomach clench with want. "I might be partial to the rose spread, too…"

"Ah, I'm allergic," said Alisa. "Ironically. My middle name is Rose."

"Alisa Rose Orlov?" he said. It rolled off his tongue easier than he thought it would. "Lovely name."

"Thank you," she said, blushing. "You have a lovely name too."

Roy barked a laugh. "Oh, please. When people mistake your first name for a month, and your second name literally means _king's illegitimate son_ , you do have to question my parents' taste."

Alarmed, Alisa raised an eyebrow. "A month?"

"Jun," said Roy. "Spelt J-U-N, pronounced _JOON_. Like the month, June. It's the Korean pronunciation."

Alisa opened her mouth, before shutting it again. Red blossomed more fiercely, like a field of roses coming into bloom.

"I… after all this time, I thought your name _was_ spelt like the month, June…"

Wasn't the first time someone had told this to Roy. He shrugged. "I'm resigned to the fact that no one will spell it right. But at least you're pronouncing it correctly." He waved her away. "And I'll have you know that in full, my name means Crown Prince King's Handsome Bastard Son Schreave."

Alisa blurted out a laugh, and Roy couldn't help but laugh along, too. Silly naming conventions.

The waffle ban bleeped, and Alisa lifted the lid with gloved hands. Steam plumed before them, as did the glorious smell of roasted pastry. After the smog cleared, Roy could see the gleaming tanned surface of one round, plump waffle. He pried it free with a spatula, and it fell onto the plate with a satisfying crunch.

Roy offered the plate to her. "Ladies first."

She shook her head. "Let's make another one, and then we can eat together."

The second one took less long, since the pan didn't have to heat up as much, and soon, they moved their topping ingredients to the nearest bench, ladling their waffles with cream or Nutella, and slices of watermelon, and sat down to eat.

The Nutella and hot waffle melted on Roy's tongue, and he nearly melted along with it. Delicious.

Alisa shivered with pleasure. "So good!"

"Yeah," he agreed, his tongue too numb from joy to reply with much else.

"So, erm," Alisa started again – he could immediately read her nervousness at whatever she was about to say. "May I ask… why do you go by your middle name?"

"Ah," Roy said, playing with his fork. "My mother wanted me to have a Korean name. My dad was happy to comply, but he also wanted a western name, too. Both halves represented. Hence, _Jun Fitzroy_ , two names they both chose. Mother somehow managed to get the Korean name in first; apparently, it sounded better than _Fitzroy Jun Schreave_. In rolls the public's reaction, and what do you know: absolutely everyone mispronounces my first name."

Guilt seemed to compress her body into tight coils. "Oh, I… I'm so sorry—"

He waved the fork dismissively. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Anyway, young me grew tired of the elitist snobs calling me _Juhn_ or spelling my name J-U-N-E that I just asked them to call me _Roy_. And then it spread and stuck." He cocked his head and looked up, the memories fleeting within him. "When Gail was born, my parents decided to put her western name first, to avoid the same confusion. Then again, you can't really mess up the pronunciation of _Su-Jin_. It's spelt exactly how it sounds."

She picked at her waffle with less enthusiasm, though it was nearly finished. "I feel terrible about mispronouncing your name now."

He softened. "Please don't be. I'm used to Roy. In, fact, call me Roy, instead of _Your Highness_. It feels very much me, now. _Jun_ is the name my mother uses when she's scolding me, so I think it's lost its charm at this point." He shovelled a forkful of waffle into his mouth, and swallowed, the sweet taste of Nutella like a luscious surf over his tongue. "Alex and Barney know that the _Fitz_ part of my name means _bastard_ , too, so they use it as a nefarious nickname."

Roy realised then and there that he'd had cruddy luck with names.

Alisa's hand clenched over her fork. "That's not very nice."

Studying the way her round cheeks puffed with indignation, Roy leant his head on one hand. Each unpleasant crinkle of her eyes suggested far more about her relationship with the twins than the neutrality of some of the other Selected girls. Now was the perfect opportunity to find out more about her opinion of Barney.

"The _Twinces_ are not very nice," he ventured. "Not that you'd agree… right?"

Alisa cut her waffle and daintily placed it in her mouth. Her chewing was slow and laborious and torturous to eager Roy.

When she swallowed, she looked away. "I… can't say anything about Prince Alexander. He is… erm..."

"Are you, perhaps, looking for the word _asshat_?" Roy said, smirking. "Maybe _douchebiscuit_ or _fartnugget_ were more to your liking? How about _Richard Head_?"

"Oh, Roy," she said, her lips pursing. "We shouldn't… resort to that language."

It was entirely justified in Roy's mind, but he withheld the thought, hoping Alisa would continue. She cleared her throat.

"I don't often interact with Prince Alexander. When we do talk," she winced, "he… condescends to me. All the time. Lately, he's been more outright mean than ever."

Why wasn't Roy surprised? At all?

He snorted. "Don't expect anything nice from Alex. Ever." He leant in, curiosity leaping through him. "But what about Barney? You seem… friendly with him."

 _Too friendly_.

Not Alisa's fault, of course. Roy was certain that Barney had blackmailed her into a friendship, or, heck, a hidden romance. No doubt about it, he'd singled Alisa out, on the day he'd kissed her hand at their first meeting. What had become a throwaway jab at Roy had now warped into a tug-of-war game with no winners. Only losers.

Alisa shifted, her eyes darting elsewhere. Her giddiness had flown away, and what was left was a shell of it.

"Prince Barnabas is… kinder than he appears." She looked at Roy like she was waiting to be slapped. "I know… you two don't get along. You both frequently tell me your… disdain, for one another, but I don't think either of you are bad people inside."

Roy tried hard not to scowl. Barney muttering about him behind his back. Of course.

"What do you mean, you don't think he's a bad person? Did you _not_ hear the part where he calls me _Fitz_?"

"I know, I know," Alisa conceded, swishing her fork over the spots of cream on her waffle. "Barney told me how your rivalry started. Over something so… small."

Indignant, Roy huffed, "If you heard the fart that Alex ripped, you would think otherwise."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Don't you hear yourself, Roy? How petty and silly it is to be angry over something like that?"

Roy scoffed, and he stared hard at his Nutella waffle. "It's more than that, now. They've been trying to embarrass me for years since then. So I have to fight back."

"And… and what if Barney wants to stop?"

He looked up – not a trace of a lie glinted in her blue eyes.

"He… what?"

Alisa lost nerve and stared back at her waffles. "We're… friends, Barney and I," she whispered. "We talk. He tells me… sometimes, the rivalry between you wears him out. He wants it to stop."

He wanted it to _stop_? A laugh rumbled through Roy's body, and he squashed it before it could burst free.

Their longstanding rivalry wasn't as simple as turning off a light switch. This was ingrained into Roy's very being – the hatred, the pranks, the lies. With them trying to undermine his authority at court meetings and sending in guards to watch over him twenty-four seven, it was a wonder that _Barney_ was the one feeling tired with their tiffs.

This wasn't something Roy could just forgo in one moment. Neither Alex nor Barney had given him any reason to desire a relationship beyond what professionalism they could cobble together for the sake of their countries.

"And what about Alex?" Roy challenged. "He's just decided over his crumpets and tea to go _let's be fwiends_?"

Alisa leant back. "Prince Alexander… no, but Barney… he's… it's complicated."

Roy snorted. "You mean it's all a lie."

"It's not," she said firmly. "It's just… Barney… he's always gone along for the sake of his brother. Alexander says nasty words to you. Alexander does horrible things to you. _Alexander_ hates you. Barney joins in with it because Alexander is his brother, his _twin_." She toyed with the end of her braid. "But it's come to a point that… he hates living in his brother's shadow. Having Alexander make all their decisions."

After all this time, and not once, Barney had stood up against Alex. Barney, always willing to do what his brother did, for, what? The sake of family? Or twinhood? Roy laughed, and it burnt through his throat.

"I'm sorry, but I have a hard time believing that."

Alisa stiffened. "It's the truth, Roy. I promise." She frowned. "I've told him that if he wants any sort of friend, he has to be nicer. Has it not… been noticeable?"

When he'd told Roy to calm down about Officer Acketeer. When he'd vehemently defended Alisa's decision to accompany him around the palace. When he'd passed a disappointed frown his way here and there.

When he told his brother to stop, the day Roy coveted his apology.

But none of that meant anything to Roy. It could easily all have been coincidence, or farce. There had been many times that Roy had questioned the boys' allegiances to this stupid rivalry, and each time, when he thought the battles were finally over, Alex would turn around and shove it back in Roy's face. Who knew what they were really planning?

"I don't mean to be rude, Alisa," Roy said, "But how do we know that Barney isn't just telling you this so you'll be his friend? He promises he'll change, but he won't actually do anything about his behaviour."

Hurt crossed her face like a skulking shadow. "Do you think I'm so _naïve_?"

Words died in Roy's throat. "I— whoa, no, that's not what I was going for—"

"Because that's what it sounds like. That Barney would manipulate me." The crumbs of her odd watermelon waffle concoctions were left untouched now, and her face seemed to sharpen. "He's being genuine. I know he is."

"I can't see any proof," Roy replied. "So until then, I'm sorry. I can't trust him, or Alex."

The chair scraped back as Alisa shot to stand. Red-faced, she placed down her fork, and untied her apron, but her eyes blazed.

"You won't even take my word for it."

Roy's forehead creased, and sweat dabbled the back of his neck. Nothing to do with the heat in the kitchen.

"It's not like I don't trust _you_ , Alisa, but—"

"Don't you, Your Highness? My opinion isn't good enough?"

"No, that's not… I just don't think you should place any faith in them. Either of them. And I think you should stay away from Barney—"

"And now… now you're policing who I should hang out with?"

Something dropped in Roy's insides. He might as well be digging his own grave.

"No. Not what I'm saying," he reiterated. Hoping his calm voice would placate her. "Look. I've known Barney nearly my whole life. He's an asshole. He won't change."

Alisa sucked in her cheeks as if the blow had been physical. That vivacious energy she had burst with was crushed beneath her ghost-like, biting glower. She didn't frown, but she might as well have, for all the shaking of her gait and clenching of her fists.

"I'm… sorry. I'm not feeling well," she said – monotone, but with the edge of a knife. "Please excuse me."

She blitzed out of the double doors before Roy could even stand up.

Dizzy with the sudden rush of vulnerability and anger that mingled inside his head, Roy scrambled to stand. Maybe this was something to agree to disagree on, but it seemed to matter to Alisa so much that any act of defence on his behalf was a personal wound to her.

Yet, he knew he'd screwed up. Big time.

Yanking off the apron and discarding it over the cold waffles, he launched himself out of the door.

Alisa was marching away with renewed determine.

And between them was Barney, his arms outstretched towards her. He jerked his head towards Roy, his hair bedraggled, and nearly tripped on his own feet.

"Fitz! What— what happened? What did you do?"

Of course, he was outside. Probably waiting. Listening in to the conversation.

"I— Alisa—" Roy blew out a serrated breath. "Nothing that concerns you."

He made after her, but Barney grabbed his arm.

"Of course this concerns me," he said, suddenly in a low tone. "You were _talking_ about me."

Roy yanked his arm back, baring his teeth. "Which means _you_ were eavesdropping."

Barney stunted for a moment. Then, he hissed. "Of course— _of course_ I was. I wanted— I wanted to see how it fared. That's all."

Roy's inner voice reared with antagonistic screeches, and it fuelled his anger. It confirmed everything. All of his suspicions.

" _Why_?" he barked. "Are you _jealous_?"

A growl. " _Watch it, Fitz_."

"Why should I?" Roy said, laughing. "We all know I'm right. You wouldn't care about anyone but yourself and your bratty twin otherwise!"

"That's not true!" Barney yelled – wracked with fury and rawness. "It's… it's…" he blew out a heavy sigh, expelling that anger in seconds. "I care. I care… probably too much."

Roy was suddenly awash with a memory. When Katrina had come to talk him out of his stupor, and he had shooed her from his office like a snake desiring a cave alone. The thought had crossed his mind, too.

It wasn't that he didn't care.

It was that he cared too much.

A pang of sympathy struck him. The first time he'd ever felt such an emotion for his insufferable cousin.

Barney didn't notice this change in Roy. He shook his head, and backed away towards Alisa's direction.

"I don't even care right now what _you_ think. You've clearly offended Lady Alisa, and, if she'll let me, I'm going to try and comfort her."

He pelted down the corridor after her, just as she turned the corner.

And Roy was left there, his feet leaden. Guilt and anger tangled in a knot, so taut and thick it could have devoured him from the inside.

 _He hates living in his brother's shadow_.

Perhaps… perhaps, Alisa was right. Roy couldn't believe he was thinking what he was thinking right now, but she had so much faith in the younger twin prince, so much _emotion_ pent up within her that Roy disagreeing was enough for her to leave in a blaze of wrath.

Perhaps, Roy thought, things could change.

Perhaps Barney wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

 **A/N:** so I decided not to go for the cliffhanger ending. You survived this time, my friends... this time... fufufu... Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Reviews, favourites and follows loved as much as I love water (and i am 50-65% water so).

Now for some bad news. I'm stopping weekly updates. I've had no motivation to write, or work on anything, really, due to rl stress. I still love TSaTS, and I have every intention of finishing it, but right now I have to focus on sorting out my life until I can work on this again, and produce something of quality for you _and_ me to enjoy. I won't say "no chapters until mid May", because I have finished 35, and I will try to get some more words down, but I can't promise anything at this point.

Thank you for your never-ending support and patience. It really does mean the world to me.

~ GWA

NTT: "If she is guilty, she will be caught. Tonight."


	35. Keeping Track

A week past, and Roy was proud to say he had finally completed those trade deals with Princess Leeza of France. He'd held his breath and plunged, ignoring the persistent awkwardness that hung over them like a blanket. In the end, Leeza, him and Persephone were satisfied, and finally, Roy could put that terrible time behind him as he watched Leeza's car drive out of the front gates, and towards the airport.

He's been so knuckle to the grindstone for the entire week, hoping to cover up his stupid paparazzi blunder in time for his parents' return that he hadn't the time to talk to Alisa Orlov and beg for her forgiveness. She had conveniently avoided his eye contact every meal, or been too distracted by an object each time he came to say hello in the Women's Room. Alex and Barney, too, had miraculously faded into background with their own work. The only time Roy had seen Barney was at dinner.

Just two weeks left of them, and it'd all be over. It helped Roy to sleep at night.

He'd nearly, almost blissfully, forgotten Durante's information on Camilla Daugherty, too. Nearly.

 _Camilla Daugherty… frequently disappears without a trace._

It haunted him, where she could go. There weren't many places in the palace he didn't know about, and Camilla had never struck him as the exploring type. He'd picked up lately that a lot of his Selected girls liked to run around without guards. Most of them were like Levinia, he knew. Just on adventures of their own.

But there would be one who was not.

As the chopper blades cleaved the air on the rooftop of the palace, and the sleek, charcoal helicopter descended onto the helipad, Roy kept those thoughts in mind as anticipation crawled up his back. It felt utterly vulnerable. Anyone could strike him now, and he wouldn't have expected it in the slightest.

That was what terrified him most. The betrayal.

He managed to kick away the possibility as his parents stepped free from the stationary helicopter. Both Merrick and Ji-Yu had developed a tan, despite the cool winter, and the coats enveloping them now. Bags had settled underneath their eyes as if they hadn't slept properly for the last two weeks.

Roy fixed his tie. It did no good to calm his frazzled nerves.

Merrick spotted him first, rushing over. "Ah, hello, son!"

They hugged, and for a short-lived moment, Roy forgot the terrible things that awaited him downstairs. "Hi, old man."

" _Old man_? Pffft," Merrick said, pulling away. "I haven't aged since my twenty-first birthday!"

The wrinkles and blond-turned-grey hairs were testament to the lie. Roy grinned. "If that helps you sleep at night."

"It does," he said. "Where's my other little baby?"

"Downstairs. She's currently distracted by a new packet of glitter Lanna bought her." Pause. "Lanna has since regretted her mistake." He coughed. "The twin menaces are also downstairs, since you obviously cared enough to ask."

"Good, good. And," his jovial spirit dampened, "how's the country, dare I ask?"

Roy opened his mouth, but no words came out. Gathering his wits, and spotting Ji-Yu approaching, he managed to say, "Well, we're not at war, so I think I've done something right."

Merrick petted Roy's shoulders. "That's a good start. I suppose the advisors will give me a more formal debriefing." Merrick moved onto to greet Gemima and the other members of the court who had gathered on the helipad, and they all moved downstairs.

Roy had written a long report of everything he'd done with intention to present it to his parents. Unfortunately, that had to include firing Hobbs, but he wasn't particularly sad to add that in. Especially when Ji-Yu herself had said his personality was too vitriolic for her tastes.

She approached him. Her long-sleeved dress was an understated grey, to match the lifelessness in her eyes. The meetings in Brazil had taken most of it out of her, it seemed. Her eyes searched Roy for any signs of weakness, any sign of his wavering ability to hold together a country.

"Jun," she greeted curtly.

He hoped she found none today. Not realising how nervous he was, he took a deep breath and replied, "Mother. How was Brazil?"

"Exhausting," she said, confirming his suspicions. "I see Illéa hasn't burnt down in my absence."

He stuck out his tongue. "I did learn _something_ from you and Dad, you know."

"Really?" she said – taking on that tone that suggested a storm was coming, and he had better brace. "Why is it that eight days ago, I received a very interesting article about you at a club for a _Stop Light Night_?"

This again. He was still suffering the consequences of the club visit. Officer Acketeer lumbered behind him, next to Durante. Her neurotic search to find hidden caches of alcohol was driving him up the wall.

"I know it sounds bad, but trust me, it had to do with…" he cleared his throat and whispered, " _the Board_."

Thank god he hadn't caved and called it _the Corkboard of Destiny_.

Ji-Yu's eyebrows raised. "Ah. I see." She pursed her lips. "I hope you're not using it as an excuse."

Anger clenched his muscles, but he silenced it. "No, Mother. I'm not _that_ desperate to get out of it."

She studied him for a moment. The wind seemed to whistle, egging on a decision. "Very well, though we need to talk about _that_ subject soon."

Obviously, she'd let it slide for now. They'd need to have a more concrete discussion later. He dreaded it already.

"Okay," he agreed, with nothing else to add to the matter.

"I had Advisor Chi send me your full report before I boarded the plane."

Roy's heart suddenly lurched into his throat. Oh, god, he hadn't any time to prepare for this – for her reaction. Bracing himself as best as he could for a mental slapdown, Roy balled his hands into fists.

"And?" he stuttered.

"And I think you've done a good job," said Ji-Yu, monotone. "A few better plays here and there, and you already know my opinion on the Hobbs ordeal, but… a good job, for someone who wasn't prepared for the Prince Regent title so suddenly."

Roy could have collapsed with relief.

 _A good job_.

Not bad. Not _brilliant_ , but good enough that Roy could spend the rest of the day skipping around the palace and high-fiving all of the guards. Even Acketeer.

He was just so happy to strip himself of the _Prince Regent_ title. Now, he was back to good old Prince Roy.

"Thanks," he said, grinning madly. He could've been told the spy was extricated, for the glee that burst through him.

Ji-Yu must have caught onto it, as she smiled and placed a hand on your shoulder. "You're welcome. And," she cleared her throat, "I'm sorry, if I was too harsh on you. I understand the pressures of being in charge all too well."

Mother _apologised_? He'd never thought he'd hear the words.

Rolling his hands, he inclined his head. "Er, thanks. I guess." It made him sound so ungrateful, and yet, he was more than appreciative of her words. "I see why you exploded though. I'd been a doofus that week anyway."

"And you picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, and moved on. And that is the bravest thing you can do."

Roy's heart crinkled with pleasure.

She nodded her head – that smile vanished, and _Omma_ Ji-Yu was replaced with Queen Ji-Yu once more. "Now, about the Board."

So the moment was over as soon as it began. Roy wasn't surprised, but he was still slightly disappointed. He boxed his feelings and gestured to the stairwell entrance. "I promise, I didn't go to that club to get drunk and make out with random women."

"Not that. I mean," Ji-Yu whispered, "we need to gather everyone who knows the situation to the Board and have a more… in-depth discussion on the subject. I want this done today. You're down to fourteen candidates now, and we still haven't eliminated her."

It was true. The stage was fast approaching where Roy had to make decisions about his Elite. And which of the Selected he fancied above the rest.

The spy was still amongst them.

He gulped. "You're telling me."

She lifted her head, eye sparkling. "But, before we focus on that, I need you to meet me, your father, and Dr Nagi in the infirmary wing."

Roy frowned. It was never comforting to mention the infirmary wing. He thought that even if his mother suddenly announced that she was pregnant, he would feel unnerved in those white corridors.

"Why?"

"Because I want to take extra precautions about your safety," she said cryptically. "Meet us there in an hour or so. Keep it to yourself."

Before Roy could argue, she disappeared down the stairs.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy found his parents in the consultation room of the infirmary. The frosted glass revealed three figures already inside. Luckily, Acketeer deemed the infirmary wing the only place where alcohol wouldn't be – unless he wanted to sip anaesthetic or dry ethanol – so she opted to wait outside the wing. For a blissful few moments, he was alone, and he relished it, even as he knocked on the door and let himself in.

The room, like the rest of the infirmary, was as white as snow. The surf-patterned ceiling was the only indication of any whimsy that this place severely lacked – the desk was a plain grey, with the chairs for patients a soft, mint green. Dr Nagi was behind the desk, with Merrick and Ji-Yu in the front.

"Ah, son," said Merrick, cheerily. "Come sit."

At least someone was chipper. Roy shut the door, and sat in between them. "What's this about?"

Dr Nagi's young face smiled at him. Like Sashi, she was of Indian descent, but her skin was much darker, and her profile much more protruding. Her pixie cut hair had been swept back with several black hairclips and, despite her youthful smile, there were wrinkles around her eyes like deep crevices.

"We were just discussing some relatively new technology that has come from Brazil."

Ji-Yu dragged her hand across Nagi's desk – and Roy realised that, underneath her hand, there was a chip as tiny as a pill capsule wrapped in a small plastic packet.

"A tracking chip," said Ji-Yu. "Implanted into the skin, so that we know where you are."

At once, Roy felt his gut clench at the idea. Was this a result of the club incident a week ago? He already had enough of a shadow in Acketeer to need this as well.

"So, what, you'll stalk me? Never let me go somewhere without you knowing where and when?"

Merrick shook his head. "No, no, not at all. But due to recent events," he glanced at Ji-Yu, "your mother and I have become increasingly concerned for your safety. We will only use it if you've suddenly gone missing. Say…" he hardened, "someone infiltrates our home and drugs you."

Roy felt his bones still at the statement. If he'd had the chip on that day… how would things have differed?

Dr Nagi's easy smile fell upon him. "It's been thoroughly tested, safe for flesh insertion. Only recently made available to the public. But, it is extremely expensive, so of course not everyone is allowed the privilege. The palace will be able to gain special permissions for personal use, so, not to worry, you won't find your data on any public indexes."

Pursing his lips, he glanced at Ji-Yu. "This just seems like a way for you to watch me, now that I'm done with regency."

Ji-Yu fixed him with a hard stare. "That is _not_ the point of this. If you're in danger, or if you're kidnapped, then we'll be able to find out and _rescue_ you before any harm is done. Or worse, if you're killed."

"Then why aren't you having it?"

"We will be, son." Merrick's voice was soft amidst the tension, a fluffy cloud in harsh sunlight. "But we've decided to prioritise you, since the rebels seem to have targeted you."

He couldn't deny that. Walter Wolanski had announced it himself at the Midknight dinner, perhaps foolishly.

"Where would it be inserted?" he asked, meeting Nagi's smile again.

"The back of your neck," she said. "The surgery won't take more than a few moments, and you'll be under anaesthetics, so you won't feel anything. It might be sore for a few days, but after a while you'll hardly feel it."

He tried to imagine a scar on the back of his neck, shaped as small as the chip. It might never have been seen if he still had his long hair. Instinctively, he rubbed the back of his neck – his skin was spotted with sweat.

Why was he even contemplating this? "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Of course you do," said Merrick.

At the same time, Ji-Yu said, "Of course you don't."

They exchanged glances between them.

Ji-Yu broke off first. "It's only to keep you safe, Jun. Perhaps when the rebels are eradicated, we can have it removed again."

"We'll pose the same questions to Gail, soon, too," said Merrick, though now he was frowning. "Personally, I would have the implant, but we cannot force you" – he slid his unrelenting gaze to Ji-Yu – "to make that choice."

Ji-Yu looked like she wanted to disagree, but said nothing, only looking at Roy expectantly.

Perhaps he wanted his freedom. Perhaps it had always afforded him privacy to do what he wanted, when he wanted. But, with the rising tensions with the rebels, plus the threat of the spy, perhaps… perhaps it was the wise choice to have the implant.

"I can have it removed when this is all over?"

Dr Nagi answered, "Yes. If you wish."

"And," he posed to Merrick and Ji-Yu, "you won't watch me twenty-four seven?"

Merrick's head tilted to the side, and he beamed. "If we can't reach you to tell you we want to find out where you are, that's when we're going to look."

Ji-Yu nodded. "We only want to know where you are in times of peril."

Squishing the rebellious twinge in his soul, he said, "Okay, fine. I'll… have it done."

Dr Nagi's smile grew at least an inch. "Excellent choice." She stood. "Would you like it now?"

He rubbed the back of his neck again.

Better to get it over with.

Merrick and Ji-Yu patted his back as Roy followed Dr Nagi to the surgery room.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The insertion of the chip was a surprisingly quick procedure. Roy hadn't felt a thing when Dr Nagi slipped it underneath his skin. Once the anaesthetic wore off, he felt an uncomfortable ache on the back of his neck, and his skin bloated and sore. Unable to look at it in the mirror, he could only accept Merrick and Ji-Yu's words that, when the swelling reduced, it would hardly be detectible.

Still, it felt detectable to Roy when he'd spent the next half any hour summoning Rudy, Durante and Gemima, suspending the Board up on his bedposts, and hiding the stray underwear from his bedroom. Ji-Yu had called the meeting the moment Merrick disappeared for his office.

It was time to review the Board.

Staunchly loyal to her stupid contract, Acketeer had refused to, simply put, _go away_ , and waited outside of Roy's door until Queen Ji-Yu _herself_ had dismissed her. As persistent as a bad smell, Acketeer's brown eyes narrowed – noticeable even as she skulked away for an enforced break.

Ji-Yu frowned, watching her go. "I'm going to have this wayward contract altered."

Roy said, "That's a funny way to say _revoked_."

"The idea is good in theory. Despite Alex and Barney's intentions, I think a permanent guard will be useful," said Ji-Yu, which only made Roy's stomach drop. "But this sweeping your bedroom every other day is absolute nonsense."

Roy snorted. "Tell me about it." He glanced at his ajar bedroom door, where Rudy, Gemima and Durante were moving the furniture into a semi-circle. "Rudy keeps having to hide the Board."

"Yes. I imagine so." Forehead creasing, she tore her gaze away and stepped into Roy's bedroom. "Very well. Let's start this."

They had Durante stand outside, with the door open, in case he wanted to contribute. At least, the corridor to his room was so long and thin, no one could approach without being spotted. Ji-Yu had nestled into the armchair, whereas Rudy and Gemima shared the couch. Roy stood by the Board, ready to give his running report.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and Mother," Roy began, ignoring the throb of his neck. "Welcome to the second Board meeting."

Last time he'd done this, he'd been teasing Rudy and Durante's tense relationship. But now, with Ji-Yu and Gemima, Roy had to rein himself in.

No time for fun. Just business.

He continued. "So, with Levinia's elimination over a week ago, there are currently fourteen candidates left." He cleared his throat. "That's Elise, Luna, Skylar, Persephone, Lilly, Avianna, Sherlock, Regina, Maeve, Ferelith, Alisa, Delia, Ambrosia and Camilla."

He quickly filled them all in on the rest of their discoveries. Camilla's disappearing acts during the fashion show. Skylar's jealousy. Lilly and Eulalia's argument. Delia's secret keeping. Elise's vanishings. Luna's magical ability to speak Korean.

Ji-Yu frowned. "None of these are particularly substantial. These are all based off hunches, or silly things they have said." Her shoulders slumped. "Luna's ability to speak Korean doesn't automatically make her a rebel. Neither does being jealous of the other Selected girls, as Skylar is, or one's ability to keep a secret, for Delia."

Roy crossed his arms. "Oh, I'm sorry, would you like for me to wait for a girl holding up a sign saying _I'm the spy! Lock me up!_ "

Her cheeks puffed. "This isn't funny, Jun."

"I wasn't trying to be funny. I'm serious." He tapped the Board. "Even if they're small, they might mean something. Luna's parents had her learn Korean – she told me so herself – which means that maybe they taught her so she could more successfully infiltrate the palace. Skylar might be acting jealous so she has me all to herself. And I think Delia's one is obvious."

Ji-Yu seemed to absorb this, settling into the armchair with renewed perspective.

He sighed. "Okay, well. Is there anything _you've_ noticed that I can add? When you're in the Women's Room with Gail and Sashi and Lanna, maybe?"

"Ah, yes." Ji-Yu straightened. "I don't like Regina Landowski."

"Oh. Er, why?"

"She writes _everything_ down," Ji-Yu explained. "The last few times I have been in the Women's Room, she has consistently wielded a pen and paper and scribbled everything said to her. She even had the gall to do it in front of _me_. It was extremely unnerving." She folded her hands on her lap. "Now, what good reason would anyone have to write everything down?"

She made a fair point. Roy hadn't exactly paid Regina much attention until this moment. He'd always guessed it was just because she was whacky, but now, writing down things to note for rebel use seemed like a much more plausible option. Especially since that one time he had said something about his financial statements that had set off the avalanche of events, leading to their seizing at the hands of Satan the maid.

He scribbled his own note down, and tacked it next to her profile picture on the Board. _Regina writes everything down_. The Board wobbled as he did, the cords holding it up to his bedposts swaying with momentum.

Roy wished that Sashi knew about this whole fiasco as he said, "Anything else suspicious to report about Women's Room activity?"

Ji-Yu scrunched her lips together, thinking. Gemima, too, clasped her hands together – though Roy had never heard of her being in the Women's Room, she must have visited a few times at least.

"You've already written it down, but Camilla Daugherty and Elise Belmont's absences I've started to notice." Ji-Yu leant back. "Other girls have also started not coming into the Women's Room as often, but most prominently, I never tend to see Elise during the day, but she's mostly around in the evenings. As for Camilla… the opposite. I always assumed they were in their rooms, but after seeing your notes on the Board…"

 _Camilla was disappearing during the night?_

"Durante, when you said Camilla disappears without a trace, do you know roughly the times?"

Durante turned enough so Roy could see the unease in his eyes. "Yes: about evenings, Your Highness, as Her Majesty said. Though Lady Camilla always returns before midnight."

Roy felt his caution ramped up to eleven. Nighttime was for mysteriousness, for hidden secrets and shrouded actions. If any time was good to send messages to rebel superiors, it was at night. And she always came back before it was _too_ late. _Too_ suspicious.

He added this to Camilla's notes. _Camilla disappears in the evenings_.

This was becoming so big that he figured he _had_ to confront her about it.

"There's still a chance she _isn't_ guilty, of course," Gemima said – always the voice of reason. Her pantsuit was an elegant mint green today. "I think we should invest some time into discovering where Elise Belmont goes. And you mentioned less of them in the Women's Room, Your Majesty?"

Ji-Yu pinned a solemn look on Gemima. "Yes. Delia Colestrist I have also noticed disappearing."

"She likes to paint," said Roy, recalling their conversation before he found out he was Prince Regent. Almost two weeks ago. "She finds spots around the palace to set up and paint."

"Which could easily be another ruse," said Ji-Yu. "Have you actually ever _seen_ her painting? Or even any of her works?"

Dread puddled in the base of Roy's skull. No. He hadn't.

Everything about any girl could be a lie, a deception, and he wouldn't have a clue. It was a promising revelation that not all of the girls had made it onto the Board, yet, but there was still the chance it was one of them, too, and they had hidden it too well for Roy to see.

His face must have said everything, as Ji-Yu made a gruff noise. "As I suspected. Add it."

He scribbled it down. _I've never seen Delia's paintings_. Perhaps, even, Delia loved to paint, but she indeed still used the time to contact the rebels about her findings. "All I'd have to do is ask to see one of her works, right? Maybe even sit with her as she paints?"

"There won't be any proof of _when_ she painted it. I can't imagine sending a message would take more than a minute of her time. She could multitask."

Roy had the sudden urge to kick over his bin. This was frustratingly complicated.

He did nothing to Delia's note. "Well, it can't hurt to ask her about the painting. I'll ask to sit with her soon on a date. If she is genuinely _terrible_ , it'll at least tell me that she hasn't been improving with all these mysterious trips." It didn't seem like it could be concrete proof, though. But Roy would at least try. "Who else disappears?"

Ji-Yu settled into the sofa. "Alisa Orlov."

 _Oh no_. Suddenly remembering the note tacked to her name on the Board, Roy slid across to block it.

"Ah. Er. She's… friends with Barney." Pause. "They hang out a lot."

So much, that he had a niggling sense that he was trying to steal her away. Now, after last week's terrible date, he thought that perhaps… Barney had only wanted a friend, and Alisa had been willing to offer that to him.

Ji-Yu darkened. "I've seen the note, Jun." Her voice became ragged with disdain. " _Possibly being wooed by Barney_. Care to explain?"

Sweat pooled in the small of Roy's back. "Erm, I made that note at a stupid time," he mumbled. "I was just annoyed that she seemed to be spending more time with him than me. I don't think they're a thing anymore."

Ji-Yu's knuckles turned white. It was the colour of mercy – but the look in Ji-Yu's eyes suggested she would show no compassion for this.

"I should hope so," she hissed, "as that would be an act of highest treason."

They wouldn't be so stupid. Barney had said that himself. It was the only thing that'd come from his mouth that Roy believed.

He held up his hands. "Nope. He's just a loser with no friends, is all."

Ji-Yu's eyebrows remained knitted, but luckily Rudy spoke, and it thankfully distracted Roy from his mother's intense glower.

"I have also seen both His Highness, Prince Barnabas, and the Lady Alisa together the last few days. Admiring the hallway décor, if that helps in any way."

So, Barney had indeed managed to comfort Alisa. Guilt pricked Roy from the side – he'd not made any time to apologise for his behaviour at their date, when he knew he really should have.

Ji-Yu gritted her teeth. "I hope these two aren't tied up with one another, and you're overlooking it, Jun."

For the first time, Roy returned her glower. "I'd be just as angry if they _did_ , Mother. But they're not. Barney and Alisa are not idiots. Barney has even read one of our ancestor's biographies. I can only assume he knows the punishment."

Public caning, then the stripping of their castes.

The most humiliating of sentences.

"And, like I said," he continued, "Barney is just a lonely boy looking for fwiendship, because he's finally waking up to how much of a fart machine Alex is."

Ji-Yu didn't dispute it. Maybe she was also seeing the light…?

"Is that all then, Your Majesty?" prompted Gemima.

"That's all I've noticed," said Ji-Yu. "I obviously have not been in the Women's Room for the last two weeks, so perhaps things have changed."

Or perhaps not.

A tense silence fell as they all considered the Board. Roy looked at all of the clues they'd gathered, still resulting in mush inside his head. He found it hard to fathom that any of these wonderful, beautiful girls, that had shown him kindness in so many ways… was out to kill him.

One of them was lying, and he feared he would never see it coming.

"Perhaps it would be wise to review the Selected's submission forms again. There may be some useful information there to use." Rudy said suddenly. He rolled his shoulders. "And, pardon if this has been suggested before, but perhaps we should start to take more… _direct_ action, to uncover the spy."

Roy was still mulling over the thought of the submission forms when he felt his stomach leaden, and his lunch dissolve into ash.

 _Direct action_. Taking their own steps to weed out the spy in their ranks.

All the eyes in the room turned to Rudy, and he suddenly paled as if he'd said the wrong thing.

"How so, Rudy?" asked Ji-Yu.

Rudy cleared his throat, before standing up and crossing over to the Board. He gestured to all the notes Roy had made, all of the things they had noticed. All of their clues, their evidence, however insubstantial and menial it was.

"So far, we have had each of the Selected ladies provide information to us by means of what they say, or what they do. Perhaps it is time _we_ started to find out things _ourselves_ , instead of waiting for _them_ to come to _us_."

Roy's lungs parched. What Rudy was suggesting was exactly what they needed, but it was also… dangerous.

Ji-Yu's calculative gaze seemed to flicker with a new flame. Kindling, and ready to burn.

"I see," she said, with an unreadable tone that didn't match her invigorated gaze. "Lady Camilla, at the moment, is our biggest possibility here. So, if we were to take a direct route of action to find out where she is going…"

"We'll never know where she goes unless we… follow her," Roy suddenly said. He glanced back at Camilla's portrait. "Unless… we have a stakeout."

 _A stakeout_.

The breath Roy inhaled seemed to taste like cinders, but he rolled with the idea.

"If Durante and I stake her out, we can find out where she is going," he rambled. "Then, from a safe distance, we can watch and see if she's just going to satisfy a desire to look at pretty building structure or… if she's off delivering her superiors information."

It was a thin plan, with many holes, but something to go on.

"That sounds rather unsafe, if she is the spy," said Gemima, crossing one leg over the other. "She could quite easily catch you in the act."

"I agree. If anything, it should be Officer Durante alone," said Ji-Yu.

Roy tried not to be offended. "Suppose she goes somewhere that's closed off to staff, which Durante can't access, but I can. I won't need to provide any excuse, either. Unless you want to promote him to Captain of the Guard, which isn't exactly a subtle play, either?"

Ji-Yu and Gemima exchanged worried glances. So, they agreed.

"I suppose," said Ji-Yu eventually. "But I'm not entirely comfortable having you run around committing espionage."

"If I may," said Rudy, his voice level. "We could have Captain Delacroix monitor the CCTV during the stakeout. It doesn't cover everywhere, but it will at least cover the main hallways."

Now that Roy had this tracking chip in his neck, he suddenly felt like CCTV wasn't necessary anymore.

Ji-Yu pivoted in her chair to face Durante. "Is this agreeable to you, Officer?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Durante.

"Excellent. Then we will execute this tonight."

Roy choked on the air. Dread crawled up his spine like a tarantula.

" _Tonight_?"

Ji-Yu turned back to him. A sternness had shadowed her like a cloudy night over a dark sea. "We don't have any more time to waste. This concerns your safety, and the safety of everyone else in the palace, let alone the security of the country. If she is guilty, she will be caught. Tonight."

He felt like he should have felt strength, and resolve. Tonight, they would follow one of their own significant leads. Tonight could be the end of the rebels. Tonight, he could rest, knowing that tomorrow, he could continue his Selection to find his one true love.

But an echo of fear pulsed through him. From the time Walter Wolanski had sabotaged the Midknight dinner. From the time the gunman had broken into the palace during the fashion show. From the time Roy was drugged, and brought in front of Newton's Wife and Satan the maid.

His previous conviction to be involved watered down to a weak solution in his stomach. Though he'd been so close to uncovering the truth before, when Jordan Iscariot confessed to his crimes, this was the first time Roy would _search_ for it.

The thought of finding out the truth tonight… it _scared_ him.

A hand on his should grounded him back to reality.

Rudy's face had tensed. "Yes, I think the sooner, the better, Your Highness." He straightened. "I will do my best to help prepare you."

Ji-Yu rose in one swift motion – no matter what else was said, the plan was still going on tonight, whether he liked it or not – and addressed Gemima. "I want extra patrols around the perimeter of the building. Inform Delacroix of his task tonight. Have the required earpiece equipment dusted for use. Officer Durante" – she turned to him – "I want you armed to the teeth."

Durante turned to her and saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

The word rattled Roy. " _Armed_?"

"Yes, armed," Ji-Yu said, unfazed by the weight of what she spoke. "Weeks ago, I may have wanted a rebel for questioning, but this has gone on for far too long. If Camilla shows even the slightest hint of being the spy, I want her taken out on sight."

A shudder ripped Roy's thoughts in two.

He'd never considered the fact that they might have to _kill_ the spy. That he would have to condone the order to end someone's life.

Another lapse of terror rushed through him. A waterfall with no intentions of stopping.

If she was the spy, and she was shot on sight, then it would be worth the terrifying anticipation, the raw dread that stripped him bare.

But, if Roy chose incorrectly, if Camilla was innocent, and Roy made a mistake…

 _No_ , his mind yelled. _I do not make mistakes_.

Even if he allowed himself the small luxury now, he couldn't tonight. Not when the stakes were so high.

Because, if he did make an error… Camilla Daugherty would die.

* * *

 **A/N:** ahahahah, I'm sorry to leave you with that cliffhanger, but... I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoyed!

I'm still in the midst of a writing haitus, so unfortunately this update does not bring good news with it. I'm sorry everyone! My exams/ dissertation are thorns in my side. I don't even have time to _read_ fanfiction anymore, let alone write it. Once end of May rolls around, however, we'll be back to the regular schedule.

Let me know what you think in the reviews! As always, favourites and follows also appreciated. Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "And… you're planning to kill her for it…?"


	36. Climbing Anticipation

**A/N:** I don't usually do Author's Notes before the chapter, but I thought it would be good to have a refresher from the long break. Of course, I'd recommend re-reading the chapters if you're really out of touch, but here's a summary of the latest arc...

In celebration of the visit of Roy's aunt and horrible cousins, Queen Philippa and Princes Alex and Barney from the United Kingdom Commonwealth, King Merrick holds a ball. However, not only are Alex and Barney to stay for a month and does an elimination of Vanessa Hardy become awkward, but Roy is also drugged and forced to acquire documents for the Southern Rebels by two people called _Satan the maid_ and _Newton's Wife_. Merrick and Queen Ji-Yu are suddenly called over to Brazil, leaving Roy as Prince Regent. His responsibility takes a toll on him, becoming so stressed he fires his valet Rudy and throws a wild rave. The party proves a disaster for himself and his relationships for his Selected. Taking new strides to improve, Roy apologises to everyone he can, rehires Rudy, and eliminates Riley Aldaine and Levinia Lefray to move on. Left with fourteen Selected girls, those who know about the spy come together and discuss a new plan of action: a direct stakeout against Camilla Daugherty, who has been caught mysteriously vanishing from the palace during the evenings...

Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Twilight came faster than Roy could anticipate.

So did the plan to find out the truth about Camilla Daugherty. Where was she going, and was it for ulterior, malevolent intentions?

The earpiece was uncomfortably large in his small ears, blotting out the sounds to his right, but it hadn't taken him long to get used to it. The buzz of the mechanical din was hardly noticeable after he'd left it for a few minutes, and it at least dampened the riot Ji-Yu was making in the CCTV room of the guards' barracks.

"Is this on?" her voice thrust into his ear.

Glaring at his mother, who was standing at the other side of the room, Roy said, "I can't tell if I can still hear you out loud, Mother."

She scowled, straightening above the microphone attached to the control desk. "It was only a test, Jun. This needs to work."

Durante lumbered through the reinforced steel doors. He was still wearing the blood red guard's jacket, but had switched his white trousers for black slacks, as if he could blend into the night. Sweat layered him, and by his clunky and robotic movements, he was just as anxious about the stakeout as anyone else was.

"It's working, Your Majesty," he said.

Roy's gaze slid to the black strap fastened around his back. The assault rifle was only to be used in dire emergency – say, Roy's life in sudden danger – but still, Roy felt a chill skitter through him each time he noticed it, gleaming black and cold. Two handguns holsters were also attached to Durante's belt.

If Roy didn't know Durante, hadn't seen the many facets that made him the person he is, Roy would've been scared to even look in his direction.

He jerked his head towards his walking armoury. "If you have to use those, please don't miss."

Ji-Yu clasped her hands together with a clap. It bounced through both his ears at varying levels of loudness. "Good. It appears we're ready."

Captain Delacroix spun in his wheelie chair, an action that seemed at odds with his strict, stern face. "Main hallway CCTV is secure. We're ready when you are, Your Majesty, Your Highness."

This was it.

Ji-Yu crossed the room and patted Roy's shoulder, her face solemn. Her eyes were dim, like liquid pools of a starless, midnight sky. "Good luck. I hope very much that she is not the spy, and that this is all for nothing, but…" she wavered, "better to be safe than sorry."

Roy tried to picture the sheer bliss he would feel if he were exonerated from the problem, but the future seemed impossible to predict at the moment. If he could read a crystal ball, it would plume with a haze so thick, there would be nothing to discern.

"I know," Roy said.

"Now, then." Ji-Yu slipped her hand away, clasping them to her front. "Go on, now. If I need to talk to you, I'll use the earpiece."

Ignoring his personal feelings had been easy until now. His heart thundered with anticipation, with dread. He and Camilla hadn't talked very much, but it still pained him to think she could work undercover for the rebels. If she were the spy.

Boxing his emotions and squaring his shoulders, Roy made for the door. "Let's go."

He didn't look back.

Winding through the corridors with Durante had been a silent affair. Guards and staff raised their eyebrows at Durante's numerous weapons, but didn't do anything out of the ordinary. Roy's face burnt like the world was watching him.

They went upstairs several flights until they were on the Selected's floor, and navigated through the labyrinth of corridors. Camilla's door was so close. What if she wasn't there? What if she'd already vanished for the night?

He turned the corner, mulling in his thoughts, and Officer Acketeer nearly ran into him, and, startled, let out a yelp.

He, too, arrested his walk. Wasn't she supposed to be following _him_ around?

"Ah, Your Highness," she said, her pitch jumping, before she saluted. "My apologies. I nearly bowled you over."

The Selected wing was only down this last hallway, now. He raised an eyebrow. "Where did you go?"

She blinked, and a blush swept over her. "Where did _you_ go?"

Her tone was so informal it was hard to believe she was a guard at all. "Excuse me?"

"By that, I mean, Her Majesty dismissed me earlier and when I returned, you had disappeared. I couldn't find Your Highness." She frowned. "I hope you haven't been consuming any alcohol in my absence, sir."

"I have not," Roy snapped.

Ji-Yu's sigh buzzed as if she was speaking through a fan, and Roy wasn't prepared for the loudness of the earpiece in the quiet of the palace. " _Let her accompany you. More protection would be beneficial, I suppose. Just make sure you don't tell her the purpose of this stakeout._ "

Great. Now he had to drag Acketeer along. What was she going to think about following Camilla around?

Roy spun a lie in his head. "I'm going to… er, check on a Selected girl in a stakeout."

One of Acketeer's eyebrows rose, and her gaze pinned to Durante behind him. "With all that weaponry, sir?"

Roy peered at Durante – his mood had shifted from solemn seriousness to a tense tautness, coiled tightly around him like a thick wire. His eyes were no longer vigilant, but glued to Acketeer as if she might explode at any moment.

And no wonder. She'd shared the gossip about him and Rudy to the Twinces. He had every right to remain vigilant around her. To resent her. Durante didn't reply, though, which allowed Roy to clear the air as much as he could. They really didn't have time to squabble over personal issues, no matter how much Acketeer deserved it.

"I have reason to believe," Roy said airily, "that Lady Camilla Daugherty might be… seeing another man."

Acketeer's eyes popped open. He regretted lying, and the lie itself, but either it was that or hinting at the true purpose of this stakeout. If anything, finding Camilla with another man would be a total _relief_ to what he expected.

"Are… Really?" Acketeer whispered.

"Yes. And I want to, er, catch her in the act. For the highest dramatic effect."

Acketeer's eyes once again focused on Durante. "And… you're planning to kill her for it…?"

Roy cleared his throat. Lying was so easy now. "No, but as a precaution, I have asked Officer Durante to escort me, in case the situation turns… ugly."

Though if he ever caught anyone committing such a treason, Roy could only imagine they would plead for mercy, rather than take on a trained guard who was armed to the teeth.

Acketeer's lips formed a thin line on her face. She'd bought the lie, but the reaction seemed extreme. At least, that's what he hoped.

"I see." She cleared her throat. "Then I must insist that I accompany you on your… mission."

Roy looked at Durante – he was as still as a statue, as wound as a screw, but he didn't say anything to dissent Roy. If it was his place, he might've reacted with a punch instead.

Roy looked back at Acketeer. "That's fine. Just please… stay quiet."

"Of course."

The group assembled, Roy, Durante and Acketeer made their way to the corridor outside Camilla's room. The guard posted at her door told them that she was still inside, so they crammed themselves into an alcove.

And waited.

And waited.

After an hour, Roy had sat down onto the carpet and was currently tracing the funny patterns on the plant pots. Durante, behind Roy, had kept watch the entire time, but it was obvious by his sagging face that boredom was gnawing at him too. Even peppy Acketeer, in the alcove opposite, was suppressing her yawns.

"What time is it?" Roy eventually hissed into the silence.

Durante checked his watch. "It's nearly eleven."

 _Lady Camilla always returns before midnight_.

Surely she would have left by now, if she was going to leave at all today. If she had things to do for her evil spy seniors, how could she get them access if she was stuck in her room?

Roy stood up from his awkward squat. "I think I'm growing grey hairs here, waiting for so long. Do you think I should just knock? She's probably inside."

Durante said, "It's up to you, Your Highness," the same time Ji-Yu buzzed in, " _Absolutely not_."

Chewing his lip, Roy pressed his finger to his ear. "Why not?" he whispered, so as not to alert Acketeer to their secret conversation.

" _If she is the spy, Jun—"_

"She would have left by now. If I knock and she's still in, we can try another night when she _does_ leave her room."

" _And risk causing suspicion? No._ "

Roy grumbled, "Do you have a better option than me waiting here until I'm as wrinkled as you?"

She made a grunt that sounded like she wanted to retort the jab, but didn't comment on it. " _Very well. Knock. But Officer Durante must go with you_."

 _Obviously_ , Roy wanted to snort, but he was already testing his mother's patience long enough.

Roy and Durante stepped out of the alcove, and Acketeer's gaze zeroed onto them. "We're going to knock," said Roy.

Acketeer's lips seemed to thin, but she nodded and followed.

Roy dismissed the guardsman and poised his knuckle over the creamy wood of the door. This was it. He hoped equally to be rid of this sickening spy business once and for all as he did for Camilla to be an innocent party.

He knocked. Once.

After beats of silence, he knocked again. Three times, like the beginning of a song rhythm.

Roy's stomach began to churn when another full minute passed, and no response.

"Lady Camilla?" he called, knocking once more.

No response again. Roy's brain began to roil along with his stomach.

If she wasn't answering him… if she wasn't responding…

But they'd be standing there for nearly an hour. There was _no way_ she could have left without being caught.

He swallowed the knot of nerves that had crawled up his windpipe. "I'm going in."

Ji-Yu didn't reply, so she was clearly on edge just as much. If not more.

Durante readied his hands over the assault rifle. Acketeer tensed.

Roy opened the door.

Camilla's room was well-kept and clean, but also had an air of untidiness to it that Roy couldn't pin. Her bed was made and the floor was free of articles of clothing, but the walls were also plastered with numerous sketches, drawings and blueprints of buildings and architectural designs. He could see it even in the darkness.

"Camilla?" he asked again, but her bathroom door was ajar, with the light off as well.

She was _definitely_ not here.

He groped for the wall light and switched it on. The first thing that caught his eye was a jar of rocks on her bedside table. Why she _had_ a jar of rocks, Roy had no idea. And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

The second thing that caught his eye, was the flurry of curtains dancing in the wind.

Coming from the open window… and abandoned balcony.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Without thinking, Roy scrambled to the balcony and peered down.

The Selected wing was on the third floor of the palace. And each floor had a generous space between the ground and the ceiling. It wasn't exactly a nice hop down to the ground. From here, the fountain in the back garden courtyard was about the size of his hand.

So, had Camilla… _climbed_ her way out?

The churning in his stomach turned into a tornado, raging and pillaging his entire body.

She'd decided to skip being caught on cameras today, and just went _full-on_ spy mode.

"Look at this," said Acketeer from behind.

Roy ripped his gaze away. She'd picked up a roll of white tape from the top of her dresser, amongst a cluster of rolls of different widths. This roll, he discerned with incremental horror, was nearly used up to the cardboard frame in the centre.

Acketeer dragged a finger along the material. "Athletic tape, to help prevent injury and support muscles." She put the tape back on the dresser. "Can definitely be used for climbing."

Roy tried to straighten. So if he did _actually_ believe that Camilla Daugherty had scaled _half a palace wall_ just to meet with the rebels… where had she gone after that?

Squinting his eyes, Roy searched the garden desperately for any ghost of a figure. The garden stretched back acres and acres, but they were high enough to see the border between here and the forest, poking up from behind the thick brick wall like tower spires. Guards patrolled frequently at the perimeter, and there was a guard stationed at the gate, but if she managed to exit the palace without being spotted, she could surely do the same leaving the entire complex.

And then he saw. Just a pinprick in the vastness. By that very wall.

The shape of a girl.

 _Scaling the wall around the grounds_.

Roy's jaw dropped open. He had _no idea_ Camilla was capable of such a thing.

But of course she was. Spies were trained in this sort of thing, right? To hide their skillset and use when most needed? Roy felt his lungs crackling like a fire desperate for oxygen.

Durante came behind him. "If we want to follow, sir, I think we're going to have to gain access to the forest behind the gates."

The forest was tricky, large and foreboding. Darkness seemed to congregate there like a social gathering. It was the perfect place for rebels. He vaguely recalled his ancestors having trouble with rebels in the forest too, and this time, it would be no different.

He psyched himself up. Though he was nearly close to being sick, he had to follow. Had to see. Where she was going, who she was meeting.

He marked her place on the wall mentally. "All right, let's go."

They hustled out of her room and into the garden, but by the time they'd crossed the garden to the wall, which took about twenty minutes, Camilla had completely disappeared.

Luckily, Roy had access to the gates into the forest. His mother had always discouraged going beyond the gate, since it was technically open to the public, which included all sorts of questionable members of the human race. But since she'd given him her permission this time, the guards let him through the four wrought gates without hesitation, and the gates opened one-by-one.

The darkness swelled around them as they departed the safety of the palace walls. The canopy of the forest was so thick, that only the faintest spots of moonlight could filter through, and the pine would have been a comforting smell if Roy didn't have an ulterior purpose than smelling the sweetness of the trees. There weren't any snooping paparazzi, luckily, but somehow Roy found the idea of other people's presence more comforting, even if they were nosy and unrelenting.

Durante stayed in front of Roy, his assault rifle and its attached torch poised, whilst he'd – reluctantly – parted with one of his handguns and given it to Acketeer, who held up the rear. Soil and twigs crunched beneath Roy's feet, and the silence enveloped them like a wintery bow. Apart from the occasionally chirp of an animal and their own footsteps, there was nothing to be heard. Nothing to be seen.

Roy felt like adding his voice to the harmonious, yet ominous, quiet was almost a crime. "How are we even going to find her? She could be anywhere in this place."

For once, Durante seemed to be at a loss. "I'm… not sure how to proceed, if I'm honest, Your Highness."

" _Surely there is a sign of her movement?_ " Ji-Yu provided unhelpfully through the comm.

Roy mumbled, "I don't speak broken twig and tree whisper, unfortunately."

"Wait," said Acketeer.

Roy and Durante halted, and they both watched as Acketeer overtook them and carefully monitored where she placed each crook of her booted toes. She'd holstered her gun to survey the ground, the forest floor, with a sudden, intense eye that Roy hadn't seen from her before.

"You're not searching for alcohol, are you?" he joked, but for once, she ignored him, and crouched down the ground, digging her hand through grains of soil.

"All this spore," she said, " _is_ an indication of movement."

"Spore?" Roy asked. "You mean those seed things?"

Acketeer shook her head. "No, sir. _S-P-O-O-R_ , spoor. It's traces of animals that hunters use to track them." She jiggled her head. "Well, in this case, trace of a _human_."

She dropped the soil and stood up. "The soil is more compact in this spot, suggesting someone stepped on it. The ground isn't wet enough to compress the soil into a solid footprint, but it's too big for any regular forest animal." She pointed just further on. "And here. These twigs are broken. Someone stepped on them, too."

"It still could be an animal," said Durante – with the most unimpressed tone Roy had ever heard.

"It's winter. The best this could be is a wolf or a fox, but again, those footprints heading in the same direction are too big." She gestured down a path where the roots of the trees burst free from the ground like a gnarled obstacle course. "Her lady probably went this way."

Roy followed her gesture with his eyes. If Acketeer was right, Camilla had dove straight into the heart of the forest. Durante seemed inclined to disagree, judging by the frown lines crinkling his face, but he looked to Roy for guidance. After all, it was Roy's decision.

"When did you learn to track?" Roy asked, the question suddenly coming out as accusing.

Acketeer lowered her arms. With the light on her face, her blush was bright and illuminous. "Oh, well. I pick up a few things now and then."

Roy rolled his shoulders and stared down their path of mystery again. "We're not exactly flooded with options, here." He jerked his head. "Lead the way."

Acketeer beamed and armed herself with the gun again, heading their search party. Durante stayed behind Roy, and they followed in total silence.

When they reached the largest tree trunk Roy had ever seen, easily the width of a small house, and the unloved colour of an abandoned shed, Acketeer held out a hand for them to stop. Branches splayed from the trunk like spindly hands, as if reaching to seize the hazy air, and webbed up the tree in a network of leafless, speckled wood.

A flimsy messenger bag hung on one of those low branches. Roy was tempted to plunder it for notes, but as Durante aimed the torch in its direction, the only thing he could see was sandwich bags filled with peanut butter bars.

Then Acketeer tapped Roy's shoulder, and pointed upwards.

Roy followed her gaze.

He didn't need Durante's torch to see, because Camilla Daugherty had wedged herself so high up in the canopy that her whole body sparkled in the moonlight. Sports tape was wrapped around her hands, her bare knees, and her bare elbows, and she somehow balanced herself on two branches with such expertise that she even had a sketchpad and pencil in one hand, and one of her peanut butter bars in the other. A low light emitted from a small torch that she'd jammed behind her ear.

Roy was too startled to say anything for a minute. She was, again, nearly the full way up this tree with no guards, no safety nets. Nothing, but herself, her sketchpad and a chocolate bar. It was a genuine snapshot of Camilla Daugherty in the wild.

She didn't notice them, even as they approached the very trunk of the tree, with her in full view. Her gaze was solidly stolen by something far away – Roy guessed she was facing the palace. No doubt she was at a height not even the palace walls reached.

He finally found his voice, and it came out choked. "Lady Camilla?"

She yelped, dropping her peanut bar into the milky darkness, and her head whipped to face him, the shoulder cut of black hair following like a silky ribbon. Her eyes glinted.

Like an, _oh, crud, I've been busted_ , glint.

"P-Prince Roy!" she squeaked, in the guiltiest voice he'd ever heard come from her mouth. She hastened to tuck the sketchpad under her chin and the pencil behind her other ear as she started to climb down. "I-I'm sorry. I'll… climb down now."

He watched with a mixture of awe and shock as she effortlessly descended the tree with easy swings of her arms and the bounce of the branches. Not a scratch was on her, even if some leaves and twigs had caught in her clothes and hair. She landed onto the soil with a solid thud. Durante shined the light on her, and it only accentuated the tautness of her shoulders, the bow of her head in shame. She turned off her torch and clenched her sketchpad in her hands.

He'd never seen her express so much emotion.

"What…" he began, but his mind was too full of mingling thoughts. "What on earth?"

She winced, keeping her eyes squared on the tree next to her. They were the same shade of deep brown. "I… I'm sorry," she managed again. "I like… climbing."

"No kidding," he murmured. "But… _why_ were you in a tree, in the dead of night, in the middle of a creepy forest, that I'm _pretty_ sure the Selected are forbidden from entering?"

Her eyes slid to the assault rifle in Durante's hand, then the handgun in Acketeer's, and she swallowed. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I just… I like to climb, and I like to sketch buildings, and this tree" – she awkwardly patted the trunk – "provides on the best views of the palace."

Implying she'd done this a dozen times.

"That's the only thing you do when you come out here?"

She nodded tentatively. "Yes, Your Highness."

He could've been angry at this development, but the only thing he could feel was relief.

Camilla wasn't the spy.

At least… for now, she wasn't. Her disappearances into the night could be attributed to a wild desire to climb, rather than a taming desire to see the monarchy fall. There could always be more evidence to suggest otherwise, but for now… she was innocent.

He loosed a breath, and gestured for Durante to lower his gun. He detached the torch and held it with his now free hands, scanning the foliage for any possible surprises. Acketeer, too, seemed to relax.

"It's a false alarm," Roy breathed out in a sigh of relief, more to himself than anyone else.

He'd forgotten Ji-Yu on the line. " _Yes, I can hear the conversation, Jun_ ," she muttered. He could almost hear the cogs of her brain turning. "Fine. But the girl needs a stern talking to about her priorities. Meet me in the control centre when you return to the palace."

He toggled the communicator off.

But Acketeer stepped forwards. "It might not be a false alarm, Your Highness." She faced Camilla with a stern frown. "Is it true you're seeing another man?"

Awkward silence.

Roy could swear he heard his stomach drop to the forest floor. Why did the lies he made up to spare him on one situation always come back to bite him in the butt?

This seemed to dizzy Camilla too. " _Pardon?"_ she stuttered.

"Because that is an act of the highest treason, my lady," warned Acketeer.

Camilla raised her hands immediately. "Your Highness, I promise, I am definitely not seeing anyone out here." She pressed her lips together in that guilty way again, and her voice came out strained. "Honestly, I… just come here for some peace and quiet and sketch time, is all."

A pang of his own guilt crawled through Roy's lungs, and he had to fight the urge to ask about it. They thought she came out here to see rebels, but really she came out here… to be alone.

That was… quite sad.

He tried not to let it show when he rubbed his temples. "I'm not going to lie then. I'm confused," he said.

"No kidding," said Camilla.

Then her face went white.

Roy remembered that small conversation they had when he was completely drunk at his party. Camilla did have a sort of snarky humour locked up there.

He stuck out his tongue. "Touché." When she lifted her head slightly, he found himself grinning. "Sorry for the scare, Lady Camilla. I thought you were doing something suspicious out here. I thought…" he gulped. Well, he wasn't going to tell her _exactly_ what he thought. "I thought something weird was going on."

Her eyes focused on Durante, who was still scanning the trees. "And you decided to solve it with… guns."

Roy shrugged. "A prince can't be too careful now."

Camilla watched the gun slung over Durante's back like a hawk as she retrieved her messenger bag from the branch. "Then I'm sorry I've caused you so much trouble. I… won't do it again."

That same guilt festered within him. She came here to get away, which was understandable, at the very least, and a harrowing realisation of the stressful nature of the Selection, at most. She didn't seem to be doing any _harm_ out here, and if it helped her find some inner peace, who was he to stop her?

"No need to apologise," he said, noting that she tended to apologise a lot. "How about this: you can come back here whenever you like, but from now on, you bring an escort, you go when its lighter outside, and you bring safety equipment. Deal?"

Her eyes widened a fraction, as if she'd never been offered something so generous. "I… are you sure, Your Highness?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I'd be a hypocrite if I were to stop people doing what they like. Case and point: me and parties."

She cracked a grin – enough so that a shard of Roy's mind was momentarily distracted by it. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Acketeer cleared her throat. It didn't seem like she'd dropped the _secret tryst_ idea yet. "Would you like me to check the surrounding area, sir? Just in case there _is_ another man around?"

Camilla blanched again, looking like she wanted to argue, but biting her tongue. Roy watched each of her features change to dissent – he supposed that was a sign that she was telling the truth. She was out here alone.

"Er, all right. But make it quick."

Acketeer sped off like a wolf hunting prey. Roy supposed she was exactly that.

They stood in silence for a moment, Durante still conducting his search of the immediate area, until Camilla awkwardly cough. "Your Highness, may I… may I request to go back into the tree?"

Roy frowned, though he wasn't sure if Camilla could see it. "What? Why?"

"I left my spare sketchbook up there."

Well, it would be pretty awkward to leave it. "Oh, sure. Go ahead."

At once, an assertive attitude seem to flood her, and she approached the tree like a challenge to overcome. Each branch, each grip, was precise and experienced, and she ascended the tree like she'd done it a million times.

It sort of made Roy jealous. She made it look so _easy_.

"Hey, can I have a go?"

Camilla paused. She was halfway up already. "I— pardon?"

Roy had climbed a tree once when he was thirteen. Well, _tried_. He'd tripped on the root before he'd even managed to touch the trunk, and he'd run crying to Rudy over his scabbing knees.

But Roy was now a brazen nineteen year-old, and the adrenaline from the situation had yet to fizzle out.

"It looks fun," he said.

She wavered on the branch. "It is, Your Highness, but… I'm not sure if it's a wise idea."

Roy laughed. "I'm the prince. Everything I say is wise."

"Arguably, not everything you _do_ is wise," she quipped back.

He grinned with challenge. "Wisdom comes from experience," he piped. "Officer Durante, if you could shine the torch over the tree branch for me, please."

Durante seemed inclined to agree with Camilla, but he angled the beam of the torch, allowing Roy to see where to place his feet. He felt another wild kick of adrenaline rushing through him. Oh, boy, Mother would kill him.

It _was_ harder than he expected. Each branch taunted him, asking his body to stretch in ways he wasn't used to. He greeted each hold with determination and grit, and pulled himself up.

"How far am I?" he yelled, feeling like he'd just scaled a mountain.

"About two branches up," said Durante, monotone.

Roy grunted. Durante wasn't even _yelling_.

Camilla reached the top, grabbed the spare sketchbook – which was hidden within a niche in the trunk – and began to climb back down. Roy pulled himself up higher, shoving away the protest in his limbs, until Camilla reached the spot he was in the tree.

Up close, he could see a glistening of amusement that eased her muscles. The sports tape around her hands, knees and elbows was spotted with dirt and grime, and there were streaks of grime running down her legs, as well, but she'd still stayed miraculously unscathed.

"Can you, erm," she hesitated, "manage?"

He felt his upper lip draw up. "I'm the prince. Of course I can."

That same amusement seemed to betray the frown that followed. "Okay, Your Highness, but… please be careful."

"I'm always careful."

"No, you're not," said Durante, still not needing to yell.

"Rudy is rubbing off on you, I swear," Roy mumbled, going to look down.

Only to discover with dizzying realisation that though Durante didn't need to call up to him yet, he was still quite a ways up. At least four metres off the ground, which was at least a floor in palace terms. He quickly faced upwards, nearly suffering whiplash, and tamed the small part of him rallying for the earth beneath his feet.

As he climbed, Camilla easily keeping pace, she whispered, "Your Highness… you're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"Pffft. No," Roy responded.

Which was true. He would happily tatter by the edge of a breezy balcony.

What he _was_ afraid of was falling.

Camilla didn't look like she believed him – which was fair; he hadn't exactly said it convincingly – but didn't argue as he grabbed the next branch and hauled himself upwards. There had to be something cool in his tenacity, right?

He planted his foot onto the next branch.

Camilla said, "Ah, I wouldn't—"

His foot immediately slipped and Roy felt himself tip sideways. He screamed, grabbing the nearest thing – another branch – until he was dangling off the side with only one foothold.

"Your Highness! Are you all right?" called – _called!_ – Durante.

"I'm fine," Roy replied, but he was pretty sure he'd sliced something down his leg. Pain blossomed on his shin, and he felt a slow trickle of blood seeping through his clothes.

Camilla only fixed him with a pitying look. "Do you need… help, Your Highness?"

"No," he said stubbornly, waving his injured leg around. Where the heck were all the branches?

Her face was so unimpressed he could take a photo, print it, and send it as a birthday card to Alex and Barney. "Is it because _you're the prince_?"

"Now you're getting it."

Not missing a beat, Camilla replied, "With all due respect, _I'm the freeclimber_."Pause. "And I can see blood on your leg."

"… Touché." Then, in a smaller voice. "Halp."

She chuckled, before climbing down to his level and holding out a hand. "Okay, give me your hand, and I'll swing you over there."

He reluctantly released the tree branch that probably had dents in from his extreme grip, and took her hand. It was undeniably warm, but chapped and scathed in the areas uncovered by sports tape. But her grip was solid, and she helped to manoeuvre him to another branch for him to latch onto.

Eventually, he landed back on the ground. The pain had become an annoying ache, so much so that Roy leant against the tree trunk for support, and he hissed as Camilla inspected it.

"It's not deep," she said, coming back to the stand. Of course, not a scratch on her. "It'll probably just need plastering."

Durante sighed, drawing his hand down his face. Sweat had since veiled his forehead. "With all due respect, sir—"

"—you're not going to say anything respectful, are you?"

"—this was a stupid idea."

He was definitely getting bolder.

Roy tutted. "Wisdom comes from experience. I have learnt well from this, er, experience." He paused. "That I never want to climb another tree again."

Both Camilla and Durante laughed. It was a strange harmony. And he found himself laughing too.

Acketeer came stomping back then. She looked more frazzled than when she left.

"No sign of any hidden affairs, sir—" she cut herself off, staring at Roy's leg. "Goodness. What on earth happened?"

"Not on earth. In the air, on a tree." Roy waved her away before she could comment. "Let's get back to the palace."

Durante and Acketeer took Roy's sides, to help him limp back (which was probably an overreaction on his part, but he wasn't going to complain), as Camilla lead the way to the wall gate. It was obvious she'd trekked here before, since she knew where to step, when to bow under a low tree branch, and the direction they were going in.

In no time, they'd returned to the palace. Ji-Yu chewed him out, as expected, whereas she'd only given Camilla a stern talking to about her secret excursions (Camilla had understandingly become mute during this tormenting experience), and hustled him to the infirmary so one of the stationed doctors could see to his cut. Indeed, it was cleaned and sealed with bandages, and before long, the ache dissolved into only a prickle on the surface of his leg.

Durante and Acketeer parted ways with them both, leaving Roy to escort Camilla back to her room for the night. The guard by her door paled at the sight of them, but Roy dismissed him for the moment. In the light, Camilla looked more tired than he had seen in the forest. Her light brown skin was darker under her eyes. Her loungewear T-shirt and shorts were scuffed up (he wasn't entirely sure where she'd procured such casual clothes, but decided not to question it), and her hair was frizzing, into slight waves, around her face.

"That was fun," he said.

She opened the door to her room and passed the threshold, suppressing a chuckle. "Was it? I mean… for you…" Her eyes slid to the bandage, hiding underneath the now-ragged cloth of his trousers.

True, it wasn't the night he expected, but he certainly preferred embarrassing himself trying to climb a tree to discovering she was a rebel spy – or, heck, discovering she was engaging in forbidden love.

"Sure," he said. "If I'm honest… we haven't talked much this Selection, have we?"

The realisation seemed to steal her, too, and she shook her head. "No. That's true."

In a weird way, this was another date. Another bonding experience with a Selected girl.

If one ignored that it was the dead of night, he busted his leg, and his bodyguards were along for the ride.

He grinned. "I'll be sure to remember this night for a long time." He wiggled his eyebrows. "You're still the Official Stage Double-Checker, remember?"

Camilla's snort made his heart patter strangely.

"Yes, I remember. I doubt I can forget, Your Highness."

He tipped his head in reverence. "Just Roy, is fine."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure? After all, you are _the prince_."

It was his turn to snort, and they ended up both laughing at his stupidity. Well, at least he could afford to laugh at himself like this, now.

"I'm sure," he said, spinning on the spot. "Goodnight, Camilla."

She nodded with one final, sheepish smile. "Goodnight, Roy."

The door closed as he limped away.

Now Roy felt stupid that he'd suspected her. Camilla was quiet, but she wasn't capable of being a rebel spy. At least, he hoped so – now with even more desperation than before, when he didn't know her as well.

His mind seemed to fog. With Camilla crossed off the list for now, who did that leave?

The next name of the list. Elise Belmont.

Like Camilla, she'd had mysterious trips in and around the palace. Like Camilla, these vanishing acts left her suspiciously unaccounted for at times.

And like Camilla, Roy was going to have to stake her out. And find out whether she was friend… or foe.

* * *

 **A/N:** So Camilla is innocent... at least, for now... Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Boy, it's been a while. I hope you've all been well! I'm pleased to say I graduated from university and am now enjoying my summer before I start job-searching! It's been a loooong haitus, _but_ a good thing is I went to see tons of real-life castles and palaces, and they provided really great story inspiration! I always struggled describing the Angeles palace's interior, but now I have a better sense of what they could potentially look like.

(Windsor Castle was surreal because I kept imagining Alex and Barney living there lololol.)

Genuinely, thanks so, _so_ much for your patience and sticking with this story. I really appreciate it, and I really love that you take the time to read and write your reviews and reactions and theories. That you are all as invested as I am is far more motivating than I can explain. I can't say I can return to the weekly schedule atm, but it'll definitely be more frequent from now on. Let's look onwards to the future!

As for the story itself, I've certainly strung you all along for a while about the identity of the first spy! I have it mostly worked out now...

IT ALL BEGINS. 38.

Please leave a review if you can! I love reviews like I love the sound of rain (so... calming... Zzz). Favourites and follows also appreciated! Thanks for reading!

~ GreenWithAwesome

Next Time Teaser: "What could they be arguing about that would break their annoying twin bond?"


	37. Caught in the Crossfire

Roy's plans to stake out Elise Belmont were temporarily delayed by Alex and Barney's upcoming departure.

Or, more appropriately, delayed by his plans to throw the biggest _Get Lost_ party in the history of Illéa.

Finally, the thorns in his side would leave, hopefully never to return, and Roy would be free to relax again. No need to act on his guard for fear of pranks or hostility. No need to worry about glancing over his shoulder.

Even Acketeer had lightened up, having decided to take the day off. For once, there was no helicopter to hover over him.

There was a spring in his step as he made his way to his office in the morning, deciding the take the longer route through the palace to appreciate the ornate vases, the painted ceilings, the gilded doorframes and fireplaces. Servants in their liveries scurried away as they saw him, but in his joy, he tipped his head in thanks for their work and even had a conversation with a maid, shaking so hard she nearly dropped her towels.

Roy just couldn't wait until the Twinces left him.

He swerved into the next hallway for the flight of stairs. A large noise began to blurt from a turn away at the other end.

 _Shouting_. Voices of two particular cousins.

Roy lifted his eyebrow instinctively. He could make out the sharp timbre of Alex's voice versus the harried rush of Barney's. And since no other voice joined in the fray, he could only assume they were arguing between each other.

That was rare.

What could they be arguing about that would break their annoying twin bond?

As curiosity lapped over him, Roy snuck to their private living quarters. He hadn't dared grace these corridors since the Twinces had moved in, but he'd missed the generous light that pattered onto the damask carpets, and the view of the front courtyards their windows afforded.

He crept closer to their parlour door, which was ajar enough that the conversation was as clear as daylight.

"—in my neck!" yelled Barney – more furious and ablaze than Roy had ever heard him.

A short pause, then, "Don't be absurd!" Alex. "You don't feel it after a few days! I can't anymore, and I had the surgery days ago!" he scoffed. "Besides, we're having them in our _wrists_ , not our necks. It's _much_ easier to maintain."

Roy halted just at the door.

So they were arguing about the tracking chip? In their wrists?

Roy's hand went to the back of his neck. The scar was still present, but not merely more than a tiny ridge along his skin. Barney's anger suddenly made sense – he must have turned down the chip in favour of his privacy.

It was strange to think they were arguing over this. Roy had argued with Merrick and Ji-Yu, but they'd won out in less than five minutes, and the discussion had never become this heated.

Barney seemed to bluster. "I don't care where it's implanted! Only that it is _there_ in the first place!" His accent thickened the louder he became. "I wouldn't want Mother and Father conducting what is effectively _stalking_ just for my so-called _safety_!"

"It _is_ for your safety, you blithering idiot!" Alex cried. "If you go missing, we can find you immediately!"

"Or maybe it's a way for someone to watch my every move!" Barney spat back. "An utter _invasion_ of my privacy!"

Alex hissed, "You're a prince of the United Kingdom Commonwealth, for god's sake. You _have_ no privacy, no matter how much you may pretend." His snarl morphed into something more vicious. "Why do you care so much anyway? Do you have something to hide, little brother?"

This seemed to stop Barney, and he muttered out a frantic, "No."

"Oh, really? Don't think I don't notice that you disappear at nighttime. And don't think I haven't noticed you strangely absent from the main hallway CCTV footage." Alex's voice turned dark and deceitful. "Where have you been going, hmm?"

Roy froze. Even _Barney_ had been doing some sneaking of his own. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, with the spy around.

Barney made a noise that sounded like a gasp and a huff all at once. "Actually," he snapped. "I go out for some peace and quiet from _you_."

Alex started to say something, but Barney cut him off. "No, I don't want to hear it. I'm not having a god-forsaken chip shoehorned into my wrist, and that's final." Pause. "And you'll kindly take your unruly nose _out_ of my business."

Footsteps. A spike of panic lanced through Roy, and he scrambled back, but it was too late. Barney threw open the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Then they locked eyes.

Barney's usually calm and dull blue looked like they could have summoned a tsunami in a hurricane. His hair was an explosion on his head, as if he'd ran his hand through too many times, and his shirt and jacket were loose and unbuttoned.

Barney glared at Roy for a moment before tsking. "Should have known you would _also_ stick your nose where it is unwanted."

For once, Roy had to agree with Alex. The chip was a safety precaution and only to be used in emergencies. But he really didn't feel like provoking Barney than he already was.

There was so much fire in him that it could have ran through his veins.

Barney let out a disgusted noise. "Ugh. I don't even want to bother."

He strode passed without so much as throwing Roy another eye-dagger, and sped off elsewhere. Roy watched him as he left, then slid his gaze towards the slammed door.

Looked like Alex wasn't interested in trying to change Barney's mind.

Still, it was none of his business. He had the same chip, but whether Barney decided to have it implanted into his wrist was _his_ decision to make, not Roy's. Perhaps he saw something more morally ambiguous about the whole situation, whereas Roy was willing to take the benefit of the doubt.

Now uninterested in wandering down the halls, Roy headed decidedly to his office.

A figure waited outside of the door. Rainerd, the palace photographer. Roy had been doing well to avoid him since his impromptu haircut, and he and his sister Clarity had no doubt been eager to slap his new style on a paper of some sort. Looks like there was no avoiding it now.

Rainerd's camera was looped around his neck, but the camera lens was covered. He himself was wearing a bowtie, and his complacent expression quirked at the sight of Roy.

"Excellent hairstyle, Your Highness," he complimented.

"Thank you, Rainerd," Roy replied. In all honesty, he felt slightly frazzled listening to Alex and Barney's argument. "Though I doubt you came all this way just to flatter me."

"Indeed," he said, shifting his weight between his feet. Was he… nervous? "I just came to ask about whether I should begin preparations for the Elite photoshoots."

Roy stiffened, and he felt ice crawl through his veins.

He hadn't even thought – barely _acknowledged_ – the thought of choosing the Elite.

A knot of nerves clotted his air pipe. He was close to reaching that golden number ten, now that there were fourteen girls left in his Selection. Only a few more and the Selection would start to become more serious.

Who did he eliminate to get there?

"Erm," he said, fixing his collar as sweat veiled his neck. "I… What sort of preparations need to be made?"

Rainerd bowed his head in reverence. "I must scout location, find appropriate lighting and camera equipment, and liaison with the wardrobe department about the girls' outfits." He tilted his head. "This sort of thing. Are you…" guilt seemed to cloud him, "close to choosing your Elite, sir?"

Not even. It meant his future was rearing far too close for comfort.

"I will announce my choices for the Elite when appropriate," he replied eventually, hoping to sound even and regal. "Though I am not at a stage to announce them at the moment, so it may be too early to start."

Rainerd seemed to take this in his stride. "Better to be prepared early than to face frustration and frenzy later on. Thank you." He clasped his hands in front of him, with his camera wedged between his arms. "On the subject, is there a particular theme you would like to explore in the Elite's photoshoot?"

Roy cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"For example, it would be beneficial for the Elite's clothing to match, so that they signal a unified status as Selected advancing to the next stage, but it is also a good idea to have each girl presented uniquely, to show off her personality to the people of Illéa."

Roy hadn't even thought that far yet. "I'll think about it and get back to you."

"Very well, Your Highness." He bowed his head. "If I may also ask for a personal photoshoot for you and a date, as well. _The_ _Illéan Times_ would greatly appreciate some new material."

"Of course." In fairness, his avoidance of the paparazzi lately had only thrust more attention onto the girls, and they were probably beginning to resent his moments of solitude. "I'll let you know when."

"Absolutely, sir."

Rainerd parted ways, disappearing down the hallway. Roy sighed, remembering why he had his stressful episode in the first place, and entered the code for his office area.

Just as Durante sped around the corner, sweat matted on his brow.

"Your Highness," he panted in greeting.

Roy's hands shuddered on his ajar door, and dread crept up his toes and into his body. "What is it?"

"Lady Elise Belmont," Durante said, with more conviction. "She just left her room, and we know where she is."

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

It was a mad rush for Roy to relock his door and speed along with Durante to the East Wing of the palace. They stopped in front of a painting of Gregory Illéa, his regal form unnoticed by Ji-Yu and Captain Delacroix. Delacroix was armed with two sets of weaponry – presumably one for Durante – and both were heavy with the sense of impending doom.

Not exactly the morning Roy had planned.

Ji-Yu's eyes barely brushed over Roy in acknowledgement. "Lady Elise is in there."

Roy might not have understood if he hadn't lived there his whole life. Looking closely at the painting, he could see the bottom left corner was slightly risen. It had been sectioned off to become part of a secret door. This particular one opened inwards by pressing a chunk of the skirting hidden behind the glass bookcase on the opposite wall.

Why was she in there?

The answer seemed obvious.

Roy's stomach roiled. Was this it? Was this the moment she was discovered?

"And you want me to go in there and find out?"

"Absolutely not, but…" Ji-Yu's voice softened with reluctance, "if she _isn't_ the spy, then it will be quite awkward without you around the pacify her." She crossed her arms, and her nose lifted in the air. "Not that any of the Selected girls should be _using_ the secret passageways. They weren't built for fun or games."

Roy was nearly certain every secret passageway in every castle or palace in the entire world was built just so the occupants could have, ahem, _fun and games_ , but he decided not to question his mother's semantics.

Ji-Yu jerked her head at the door. "So, Delacroix will front, with you in the middle, and Durante at the back." Her eyes narrowed at the door, as if she could see right through. "Same rules apply to Lady Elise as they did Lady Camilla."

 _I want her taken out on sight._ He remembered the conviction in Ji-Yu's voice.

Roy gulped. He had less time to prepare for this than he did Camilla's stakeout, and a sudden wave of anxiety overcame him, turning his legs into jelly.

But Delacroix didn't hesitate to press his foot onto the skirting board, activating the door. It jerked inwards with one movement and arrested, forcing Delacroix to push it the rest of the way. A stone staircase melted into the darkness that gaped open to them like a mouth into hell, and a fusty smell beleaguered Roy so much that he had to use every smidgen of willpower not to choke.

"The rapidness of the situation means we don't have time to prepare comms," said Ji-Yu, nodding her head towards Delacroix and Durante. "I put my faith in you both that you will do your bidding to the crown and protect my son, your prince. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," they replied in unison. Roy noticed Durante's back straightening, as if the official proposition from the queen had imbued him with a stronger sense of duty.

Delacroix shared his weapons with Durante, and together, they looked like they were about to dive straight into the front lines of a war.

"Very well." Ji-Yu gave an approving nod to the two guardsmen, and focused on Roy. "Good luck. And don't do anything foolish, this time."

Roy tried to grin at the minor jab, but he didn't have to the heart.

Wordlessly, the trio began their descent.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Durante and Delacroix's flashlights were pointed towards their feet so they could see where they were going, but occasionally, they would drag the beams over the walls, and a cold reminder would wash Roy with an impending sense of danger. Every uneven stone step echoed up their footsteps, and every cobweb, fluttering with incensed spiders, ribboned thickly over the unused scones like spun sugar. The ceilings were so low, Durante had to crane his neck, and even when he did, the top of his head would brush against the dusty rock.

Elise must have known she would never be caught down here.

Roy kept his thoughts close. _It could just be something else. Give her the benefit of the doubt._

It was hard to give her the benefit of the doubt when she came into the spider-infested passageways in the dark of the palace, and not tell anyone about it.

Roy couldn't guess the amount of time that passed when they came to a fork, with the right stairs bending and winding upwards, and the left stairs dipping further and further down. He remembered that right usually took him to the corridors in the Illéa wing, but left…

With sinking dread, he realised he had no idea.

Delacroix bent towards the ground, inspecting the dust formations. Even Roy didn't need to have Acketeer's tracking skills to see that the left path was clearly less dusty and far more disturbed than the right.

The captain jerked his flashlight down to the right and followed the stairs downwards. Roy, swallowing his reluctance, trailed behind. At least Durante was behind him.

As they walked, Roy noticed something.

Light.

It was a warm, cosy colour – like a sunset, or a pumpkin in an autumn field. Delacroix and Durante switched off their flashlights, and, as they approached, the light brightened.

They reached a section of the staircase flattened and smoothed. A sconce on the wall had been lit, burning the dust fiercely like kindle. The orange glow was both a relief to Roy, and a foreboding message.

Elise was here.

Next to the sconce was a lone door. In the light, it shimmered gold – Roy realised it had been painted in delicate gold paint, and was intricately carved with several _fleur de lis_. Roy had never seen it before, but it was beautiful.

Delacroix made a sign that Roy didn't understand, but apparently, Durante did, as he prepped his gun. The trigger was mere centimetres from his finger.

So, this was it, then.

Delacroix motioned for Roy to step back, and he did, out of the way of the view of the door. Slowly, agonisingly, Delacroix began to open the door.

It creaked. Its old hinges groaned like it had been awoken from slumber a thousand years too early. Delacroix had only managed to slide it a few inches before a short, curt voice – but brittle in delivery.

"Who's there?"

 _Elise_.

Roy's heart leapt into his throat, and for moments, he couldn't breathe. Despite the coolness of the stone walls, he could feel sweat sticking to his back and his shirt.

It didn't stop Delacroix and Durante, who took the message to burst through the doors, shoving them open with their shoulders and pointing their guns.

" _Freeze!"_

Elise yelped ("Eep!"), and something clattered to the ground.

Roy slowly watched Durante's expression. He was good at hiding his emotions most of the time, but this – he caught the slight hint of something new change in his eyes.

Bewilderment.

Lungs twisting, Roy choked out, "Lady Elise?"

"Prince Roy!" she squeaked. "I-I mean, Your Royal Highness, Crown Prince Roy!" It was obvious they'd startled her. Badly. "I swear, I didn't steal anything, or break anything, or—"

Both Durante and Delacroix sighed and righted themselves, their guns falling to their sides. Durante looked particularly unimpressed.

"It's all right, Your Highness," he said. "It's just…" He gestured meaninglessly to the room.

So Roy stepped out.

It was small, almost cramped. Maybe the size of two broom cupboards at best. Bookshelves formed the walls, crammed with the dustiest of tomes and archives that Roy had ever seen. In the centre of the room was an old lantern resting on an ebony desk.

There was a chair, too, but it was obvious that Elise's shoot to stand up had knocked it over. Her ashy brown hair was a wild and uncombed bun on her head, and her blue eyes were milky with fear and apprehension. Her hands were up, too, in surrender – covered in dust. Her dress was plain, simple, and not at all worthy to wear in the halls of the palace.

So this… was a library, or a reading room…?

There were a few books on the desk that Roy didn't recognise, but Delacroix had already obliged to take the daring steps forwards to investigate. Even as Elise stood there, frozen in shock, he flicked through the books.

"All clear," he said.

Roy wanted to facepalm. Hard.

Elise was running around in these hidden passageways to find the _library_.

He cringed as he said, "It's all right, Lady Elise. No need to keep your hands up."

She didn't look like she believe him, her gaze flickering to the guns in the guards' arms, but slowly retracted her hands.

"Why did you…?"

Great. Now, how did he explain this? It was a good thing he had come along, or else Delacroix and Durante might have killed he with fright.

"Er," he stalled. "We thought there might be a thief."

"A thief?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure we have a book thief in the past, you know." He procured a fake grin, trying to hide his insecurities. "You can never be too certain."

Elise's mouth wavered with things she wanted to say, but didn't. Slowly, her hands dipped to her sides. "That's right," she said, eventually. "There was a book thief once." Her eyes strayed to the books on the table, now disorderly thanks to Delacroix's rummaging. "Though I doubt they'd want these."

Roy took a peek; a leather hardback of _Famous Fairytales_ was the first he glanced upon. The many others were books steeped in history, but still with vivid, new worlds and tales of adventure. Quests with swords and sorcery, and the occasional biography of a once-revered figure in time.

Durante and Delacroix retreated back to the passageway. Roy turned to them as they waited for a command. "Thanks for your help. You can… er, go now."

Delacroix left without another word. Durante raised an eyebrow, but left just behind him. When all trace of them had disappeared, Elise inhaled the musty air.

"That was really scary," she mumbled.

Pity bled into Roy. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I'm honest, I'm really glad it was just you, reading fiction, and not an actual book thief." He wanted to shake the animosity from him. "Why do you come all the way down here? We do have the regular library open, you know."

Elise rubbed the back of her hand against her neck. "Well…" She dragged the word as if it were made with fifty more vowels. "I'd read the majority of the books there already, and it didn't take me long to finish the rest. And I came across this place when I was, erm, exploring."

Of course. The first real conversation he'd had with Elise was in that maze. She'd been exploring then, too.

He couldn't even say he was surprised she'd ready practically everything in that library. It was small, and she seemed the type to devour a book a night. "That… actually makes sense." It was an effort _not_ to facepalm now. "I'm really sorry for startling you, but maybe you could let me or someone know when you come down here? I don't want people to think you've… er…" he struggled to find the words, "gone missing. I've been worried."

Her head tilted to the side, and locks of her hair bounced down from her bun. She regarded him with inquisitive eyes, hungry for knowledge, but always seeking it with kindness.

"You were… worried about me?" she whispered.

It was Roy's turn to be startled, and his heart thumped particularly loudly.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Sometimes, we didn't know where you'd gone, and I was worried that you were unhappy, or something."

He didn't know where the words came from, but he'd been so lost in the thought of her being the spy, he didn't consider why she might disappear if she _wasn't_. Was it unhappiness, or the need for silence? Perhaps it was nothing more than a burning desire to explore the palace, but Roy couldn't be sure.

She lifted a hand to her mouth to giggle – it was high-pitched, squealing, but also sweet and joyous. "Please don't worry. I'm just fine." She made a sound like a hiccup. "More than fine, actually. I'm great! I'm having a wonderful time at the palace, and everyone is so nice."

Relief swept through him, as fast and thick as cream. And he didn't realise it, but the tenseness in his stomach receded, too.

"Good," he said with a grin. "Next time, just warn someone, okay? Bring one of your maids down here, if you must."

She nodded. "I will, I will." Her gaze flickered over the books. "I think I've lost my appetite to read tonight, though."

He offered his arm. It was the least Roy could do. "Would you like to walk with me back up?"

Her cheeks rosied, but she slipped her arm through his. She was a delicate, wispy thing. Small enough to tuck into him for a hug, or a cuddle.

Roy dragged his thoughts back to the present. Such thoughts were so… sordid to him now. He'd made out with plenty of girls before, gone further with others, but now just thinking of snuggling close with a Selected girl – with Elise – was making his heart shudder and crinkle.

Stupid, weird Selection.

"Were you really going to shoot me?" Elise asked as they ascended the stairs in near-darkness. Roy's torch and Elise's lantern lit their path. "You know, if I was stealing books?"

It _did_ seem like they were overcompensating. He gulped. "Oh, well, you know. With the rebels out there..."

Elise's curious expression dampened. "Oh. Yes. Them." Her arm became taut in Roy's. "Horrible people."

Was she bluffing or being genuine? Roy wasn't sure how artful the spy was with body language, as it seemed to suggest genuineness. But who knew? It could all be a lie.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's been horrible for my parents to deal with."

"I'm sorry," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "It _does_ sound horrible." Her voice turned mousey. "And one of us will have to deal with it with you, when the throne passes onto you."

Roy could only hope the threat would be eliminated by the time he was king.

He wasn't sure he could handle much more stress than this.

They meandered up the pathways until they returned to the entrance they came through. Ji-Yu, Delacroix and Durante had mercifully disappeared, and Roy allowed himself a tiny, unrestrained sigh of relief once the wall shut. Just Elise and him, in the corridor.

She let go and – for some odd reason – saluted. "Well, thanks for not shooting me, Prince Roy! I'm very grateful."

The thing was, she was completely serious. Her face had bunched up, and a bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. Roy, with the lingering dregs of adrenaline dissolving in his blood, and the randomness of the situation, just burst out with laughter.

"You really don't have to salute to me, Lady Elise," he said. "And just call me Roy."

She blushed, and her hand went to the back of her neck. "Oh, sorry," she said, chuckling along. "And are you sure? Just… Roy?"

"Positive. I don't bite."

Elise grinned. "But you _do_ shoot."

Laughter bubbled in his throat again, but he refrained from letting out more than a chuckle.

"I really _am_ sorry, Lady Elise."

Elise's grin softened to a sweet smile. "You can call me Elise, then. And I don't bite _or_ shoot."

She skipped off, humming a tune, before he could laugh and respond, and he watched her go. Elise Belmont was just like the characters in her books; untainted by the world around her, unscathed by negativity and hate. Whimsical and musical. Her song was sweet enough to gather the birds, and she herself seemed to dance like a fairy in a forest breeze.

But fairies couldn't lie.

The thought crumbled the happiness within Roy, and pivoting away, he hastened back to his office.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Rudy was waiting in Roy's bedroom when Roy retired from work for the day. He stood upright, appraising the Board, now resting against the wall on top of Roy's vanity table. The floors and sheets were pristine, free of dirt, of course, but the Board itself seemed like a stain upon the room.

"I'm sorry about the placement of the Board, Your Highness," Rudy said, but he didn't look in his direction. "I keep having to hide it from Officer Acketeer, along with the Selected forms and papers of use."

Roy dumped his files on his desk and closed the door behind him. "That's fine." He really had to press Ji-Yu about sorting that bodyguard out. "Thinking hard?"

Rudy seemed to wither. "I'm just remembering how I met each of the Selected girls, and…" He hesitated. "I guess I'm just finding it difficult to believe any of these women could want you as good as dead."

It was a sobering statement. Roy still struggled over his thoughts with Elise. He drew in a long breath and joined his valet by the vanity table.

"I know." Roy fixed some of the felt _X_ s that were slipping from their respective portraits. "And given that I've interacted with all of them, I'm finding it difficult to find which one is guilty."

Rudy turned to Roy, his hands clasped behind his back. "I assume Elise is a no?"

Roy wasn't sure. "She might be. She might not. Mother was right – none of our evidence is substantial enough to point fingers." He sighed. "But at the moment, no. She was just exploring the passageways, looking for more books to read."

"I see." He glanced back at the Board. "So that leaves Delia, Skylar, Regina, and Alisa?"

"And they're only _maybes_ , too. It could be anyone."

"Well," Rudy said, "they're the only ones who have been sighted performing suspicious behaviour."

It was possible they were making mountains out of molehills. "Delia likes to paint, so she finds secluded spots where she can do so in peace. Regina just likes to take notes about life around her. Skylar's an active girl, so she probably likes to explore as much as Elise does. Alisa…" he threw up a hand, "likes admiring the hallway décor. And you've lived here long enough to know we have a _plethora_ of meretricious hallway décor. She probably gets carried away. Plus her friendship with Barney." He turned to Rudy. "You see what I mean? I could explain away any of their actions."

Rudy considered this. "You know when I said we should take more direct action to find the spy?" he asked. "I think now would be the best time to do it."

Roy frowned. "We've already had two stakeouts."

"No," said Rudy. "Even stakeouts require hours of waiting, hours of hoping a Selected girl will fall out of line. No. I mean," he clutched his hands together over his front, and Roy noticed his knuckles blanching at the force. "I mean we start setting up bait."

 _Bait_. The words skittered through Roy like a rock over the surface of a pond.

"What… do you mean?"

Rudy inhaled a long breath, and turned back to Roy. His face didn't echo the slightest hint of jest. "The rebels must be growing antsy by now. Their last major play was the Bonfire Ball, and before that, the fashion show. If we make a grandiose gesture, some sort of large event where there's even a remote possibility everyone will be too whisked away by festivities, then they may use the moment to their advantage."

So of course, the word _bait_ wasn't just for shock value.

"And I'm to lure them out."

Rudy stilled. "Of course, you _will_ have everyone watching your every move. If someone comes for you, then we'll be ready." Pause. "I considered a day where all you do is go on dates."

"A day of dates?"

"Yes, with the four girls in particular: Delia, Regina, Skylar, Alisa. If you tell them each specific places and specific times, perhaps away from the palace, then you create a bait for the rebels. You're alone with one of their agents. It'll be the perfect time for them to kidnap you for Walter."

Roy tried to picture himself with Delia, Regina, Skylar and Alisa. Tried to picture being suddenly cornered by an ambush, dragged away to some dungeon underground, interrogated for information. Slowly tortured. Dying.

And if he did perish, what would happen after that? To his family? His country?

He shuddered and mowed the thoughts away. No way would Ji-Yu allow him to go gallivanting on a suicide date alone. He'd be heavily guarded. He'd have comms and armed guards everywhere. It wasn't possible.

"It sounds… dangerous," he said eventually.

"It will be," replied Rudy.

Roy rubbed his arms. "You know, this plan would be great if we were certain the spy was one of those four girls."

Rudy's lips twisted. "Indeed. If none of those four are the spy…" He jerked his head to the Board. "It's back to the drawing board." He continued, "Though the dates will at least give you an opportunity to consider whether you'd like to keep the respective ladies in your Selection."

If he eliminated those four… he'd have his Elite.

Another spike of anxiety lanced through him.

"We'd have to put the idea to Her Majesty first, of course," Rudy admitted. "But… it's a start."

But would it _work?_

Roy thought back to every encounter he'd had with the rebels. There had been a pattern.

The Midknight dinner was an event.

Vana Tyler's Charity Fashion Show was an event.

The Bonfire Ball was an event.

And this Day of Dates they planned to have…

Roy could make it as eventful as could be. Big it up to the press. Flaunt it on social media. Present the day as something to look forward to, to the girls. To the spy.

The Southern Rebels clearly like dramatics. And Roy could give them drama.

Was this it? Would this unshroud the spy? Or would it dissolve into to another dead end, another false lead?

Roy felt a kindle of conviction within him when he said, "I'll do it."

If it meant sparing his country, his family… he would do it.

And find out who the spy was. Once and for all.

* * *

 **A/N:** So Roy becomes bait on a day of dates... how will it end? Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Keeping this short, but I've worked out the general structure of how everything's gonna hit the fan, and you all maaaay want to murder me afterwards. It's gonna be a doozy.

Reviews, favourites and follows really appreciated. Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "Your bike will transport you everywhere, your best friend will be Gail, and you will have… five thousand and twelve children."


	38. The Day of Dates

The Day of Dates. It was here.

It hadn't taken long to organise after acquiring Ji-Yu's approval. She was staunchly against the idea at first, but after hearing both Rudy and Roy's perspective, her eyes opened to the opportunity. An opportunity to end it.

She knew the danger, the risks, just as much as Roy did, and so prepared guards and equipment accordingly. Even Roy was armed now, with a knife, slid into the hidden compartment in his wool jacket. He'd learnt how to use one in some of his jujitsu classes, but he begged any and every god that he wouldn't have to resort to it.

Preparing for the actual dates had been more difficult. Delia, Regina and Skylar had immediately agreed. Delia was calmly excited, brimming with ideas of where outside the palace they could go. Skylar practically bounced from the walls with ecstasy, mentioning that one of her family's sports resorts, just in Pasadena, would be a great place to go. Regina babbled for ten straight minutes about a subject that soon turned from date excitement to her favourite restaurants.

Alisa, meanwhile, had been far less enthusiastic.

"A date? Again?" she said, when he'd proposed the idea.

Roy swallowed. He hadn't talked to her at all since their last date. That disaster. In fact, he'd hardly made eye contact with her since.

"Yes," he'd said, trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt. "It's… a quick fire round of dates that I'm doing. I've chosen you four for the first day, and I figure it will be good to… work through our differences."

Alisa's lips had formed a thin line, and her gaze drifted to the floor, the walls, around them. Anywhere but him.

"Okay," she said eventually, though with no small amount of tension. "When?"

"Tomorrow. Is the afternoon all right?"

This must have grasped her attention, as she looked up – still, she didn't look directly at Roy. "Oh, no, I… can't. I… promised Avianna we would paint each other's nails." She fidgeted with her fingers. "But… I can do the evening?"

She let her sentence inflate with a note of hopefulness. He'd already promised Skylar an evening date, but he doubted she'd be mad about moving it to earlier. Roy nodded.

"Very well. Then it's a date." He found himself about as enthusiastic as Alisa was at the moment. "I'll see you then."

She'd scuttled away without so much as a thank you, and that was the end of that.

Roy pushed the awkward encounter from his head, trying not to let the prospective operations jar him. He waited close to the front doors of the palace, with the limo running outside. The sun had just tilted above the horizon line, spilling gold over the grey skies.

His first date was with Delia. The secret-keeper.

And he was taking her to their private beach to paint.

A year ago, Roy might have leapt at the chance to court several girls at once and not feel the repercussions. Now, he felt at odd's end. What could happen during each date? What about each girl was a mystery he couldn't see? And this date, with Delia – how vulnerable was he, taking her to a place uncovered and easily seen?

The comms buzzed in his ear. Ji-Yu spoke hazily over the line with Delacroix, who was waiting behind Roy, leaning into his lapel to communicate back and forth. Roy couldn't talk back, or else he'd look very suspicious to any person, let alone the spy.

Before long, Lady Delia Colestrist glided around the corner. Hair coiffed into a bun, woven with pearlescent beads, her snow white chiton fluttered across the carpets as she strode towards him. If she been still, he would easily have mistaken her for a Greek statue.

She was stunning.

Roy actually found his tongue twisted as she approached. "Hah… wow. You look gorgeous."

Delia curtsied, bowing her head as she did, but Roy had already seen the blush on her lightly-dusted cheeks. "Thank you." She righted. "Are you ready?"

 _No_ , he wanted to say. It was the devastating truth. Although everyone around him had told him to focus on the dates – there was still the very real chance that _none_ of them was the spy – he found his thoughts cloud and his heart erratic with dread. He could whisper sweet nothings, and shower compliments onto someone who would ultimately use it backstab him.

Instead, Roy plucked up his best smile. "Of course."

They boarded the limo for the beach.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The Angeles royal family owned only a tiny sliver of a beach stretching out into the ocean, and it was far removed from the public beaches in Santa Monica or Venice, but Roy still felt open and raw as they took in the morning view. It was cold – luckily not freezing, but enough to make Roy shiver.

The Pacific Ocean caressed the bitty sands like quicksilver, bathing it in cool, broad strokes. Delia shuddered too, but still didn't hesitate to shuck her ivory heels and dip a curious toe into the waters.

"Cold!" she yelped, flinching away. Roy laughed.

"What else were you expecting?"

She laughed too. "I honestly don't know. I wouldn't dare go swimming in winter waters back home in Columbia." She shrugged. "I suppose I thought perhaps Angeles sea might be warmer."

Clarity and Rainerd took their time to take shots of them setting up, with their accompanying attendants bringing over their tools: the easels, the paints, brushes, charcoal, water pots, stools. Aprons to wear (his suit was far too precious to dirty with oils). The canvases themselves were half Roy's size, and far bigger than he'd expected. They perched themselves back from the low tide, but not too close to the streets and rock formations behind them.

Despite the cool air, Roy sweated. He was too wound-up, too afraid, that he wondered whether his smiles in the pictures would look extra fake. The anticipation of an imminent attack was consuming him from the inside and threatening to collapse him. Durante and Acketeer were like specks from this distance.

Eventually, Clarity and Rainerd retreated into the background, allowing them the time in peace, but he missed their reassuring presence. At least, it was a comfort knowing other people were around him. Somewhere away from prying eyes was the special team of guards, Delacroix at the lead, watching the date from afar. Waiting.

If the rebels decided to take him now, they'd be ready, but it didn't help to calm him.

"Roy?" came Delia's voice.

He jerked, so distracted that he'd missed her speak. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

She frowned. "I'm an artist, Roy. I know what apprehension looks like. What's wrong?"

 _Oh, not much_ , chortled Roy in his mind. _Just impending doom and the possibility that you want to kill me! Yay!_

"I'm just nervous, is all." The lie was swift and smooth, and probably a product of some of his prince training. He eased a smile onto his face. "First time I've been away from the palace on a date."

The realisation seemed to sweep her away too. "Oh, yes. That's right." She glanced back at the sea, then to him. "Was it… worth it?"

The view was truly breath-taking. Though the sun crested the horizon behind them, it painted the sea in streaks of gold and orange. The clouds were a milky pink mottled with morning blue, as pastel as dye, and the breeze was balmy. Tranquil.

On any other occasion, Roy wouldn't have hesitated. But beauty, here, ran only skin deep.

He smiled. "Yes." Picking up a paintbrush, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and told himself to focus. _She could still be your future wife_. "Now, I feel I should let you know, Delia, that I can't draw for toffee."

Delia giggled. In her fiddling, pot lids had already been discarded onto the sand and charcoal had coloured the pads of her fingers black. "You just draw what you see. Paint the view."

The last time Roy drew something was when he was Gail's age. He'd depicted himself riding a unicorn with a beautiful princess in his arms. It still hung somewhere in Merrick's office. Needless to say, his skills hadn't progressed since then.

"How long do we have?" she asked.

"An hour." Plenty of time for any rebels to appear.

Determination crossed her brow. She loaded a paintbrush and palette with a light shade of yellow. "Let's start, then."

About ten minutes in, Delia pivoted her canvas away from Roy. He halted his paintbrush, currently wiping giant strokes of dark blue for the sea, and raised an eyebrow.

"Something the matter?" he said.

Delia's mouth bunched up as if she were withholding her tongue. "I just want my picture to be a surprise."

He wasn't sure how she'd manage that, given they were both painting the same thing. "I'll pretend to act _really_ surprised when you show me a painting of the beach, then."

Her mouth quirked. "Who says I'm painting the beach?"

He stilled. "But… we're at the beach."

"And my painter's eye sees everything," she replied evenly.

He didn't understand, but decided it was best left as a surprise. Though he'd had his fair share of surprises this Selection already.

Roy dripped the banana yellow shade on his palette onto the canvas, creating his beachfront. It was far too bright, but it was too late to change it now.

After a moment of pure concentration, Delia said, "Princess Gail seems to really enjoy painting."

Roy laughed. "Oh, yeah. Gail loves to finger-paint and pour glitter over her pictures. Or people. Are you from an artistically-inclined family?"

"Yes. I come from a family of Fives," Delia said. Roy didn't even recall her old caste from the forms. "My older brother, Colton, is a musician, and my younger sister, Violet, is a seamstress in training."

"And your parents?"

"My father writes. He's Aster Colestrist, if you ever read non-fictions on weather. My mother," she gave a sheepish smile, "isn't with us anymore."

Her tone didn't indicate that her parents were simply separated. _Well done, Roy_ , he scolded himself. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she said, still sheepish. "But she was also a painter. She used to create such eclectic art. Styles of all sorts. Impressionism, Warhol, photorealism, cubism. She could paint them all." She drew out her paintbrush in a wide arc around her, and navy blue paint flitted onto the sand. "Her paintings were featured at local galleries in Columbia. Sometimes, when I miss her particularly, I go to the local art showing. They have a piece up permanently in her memory."

Sadness trickled into him.

"What does the picture look like?"

Delia's eyes sparkled as if she were lost in a world as vivid as her paintings. "It's a countryside in the winter. It's white and pristine, hilly. These spindly, barren trees rise up on the right in the distance, and there's a picket fence that glitters with ice." Her hands, which had been gesticulating most of her story, stilled. "It isn't anywhere I know, but it feels familiar. But I suppose that's my bias coming in."

How did he even reply to that? A sombre atmosphere has descended on them, as cool as the sea breeze. "It might be, but it's not harming anyone," Roy said. "Your mom would be proud."

"I know she would," Delia replied with a confident smile. "My paintings aren't as good as hers, yet, but she was over twice my age when she painted that landscape, so I'd like to think I have a few years until my skills peak."

"I couldn't draw a stick figure when I was seventeen, let alone at nineteen," Roy said, "so I think you're doing just fine."

"I'll agree to that," Delia said.

They painted. Minutes passed. Roy's cruddy banana yellow beach had been enhanced with a turquoise ocean, minty foam, and an orange dot in the background to represent the sun (Delia had pointed out that the sun was rising _behind_ them, but Roy touted his 'artistic license'). He'd even added a palm tree – just for kicks.

And no attack came.

He started to relax more as the hour passed on, easing into the stool. Of course, a rebel ambush could happen at any time, but as the hour approached to signal the end of their date, Roy suspected with increasing relief that Delia was innocent. She wasn't the spy.

When their allotted time finally elapsed, Roy dropped his paintbrush into the water pot for the last time. His beach scene was as psychedelic as a kaleidoscope, but even that had some amount of order. Roy's beach scene was a mishmash of colours and strokes. He'd even scribbled in two stick figures of charcoal – him and Delia – just to prove how 'versatile' his art skills were.

Delia squeezed her hands together on her lap. The frown on her face indicated a sudden bout of nerves. "Would you like to see?"

"Of course," he said, unsure of what to expect.

Delia wheeled the easel around to face him.

She hadn't painted a beach, so much. Delia had painted _him_.

Strokes of deep blue had been pressed hard to shape his body, his suit, his woollen coat. A sweep of black for his cropped hair. Charcoal accentuated his facial features, which had him wistfully staring at his canvas with a paintbrush in hand. The rest of the painting was acutely accurate to the scene around them – the blues as deep as the ocean, the yellows as bright as the sun, the pinks as subtle as the sky. The picture on Painted Roy's canvas was just spits of colour merging into one.

 _I've never seen Delia's paintings_.

Now Roy would have to scratch that entirely off the Board, and any doubt of her skill.

The breath was stolen from him. In just an hour, Delia had managed to so effortlessly capture the aura of their environment. To capture his essence. The mood.

She quickly took the charcoal and scribbled the date and her signature on the bottom-right hand corner of the canvas. Though he doubt he could ever forget it was hers.

Her lip curled underneath her teeth. "What do you think?"

Words tumbled from him. "It's… I'm…" He tried to rein back some composure. "Wow. You've blown my mind."

She winced. "Is that a _good_ blown, or a _bad_ mind blown?"

This dragged him from his stupor, and he laughed in earnest. " _Good_ , definitely. Delia, this painting is absolutely beautiful."

She blushed like she'd painted her cheeks in red. "Thank you." Her voice was mousey with diffidence. "It's for you to have." She bit her lip again and traced the painting with her eyes. "I hope you like it."

"I love it," he said immediately. There was a wariness in Delia's eyes, a hint of self-consciousness, and he didn't want to feed any more reservation into her when it was clear she was talented. "This is better than the official palace artists. It's going up on a wall, for sure."

She wrung her hands together, but her grin was as bright as the sunrise. "It would be an honour." Her smile turned sheepish, and she looked at the ground. "I'm… actually working on another painting for you. It's not ready, but it will be soon, and I hope when the time comes, you'll accept it as a present."

His heart pattered in his chest. "Wow, really? Of course I will. What's it of?"

She split into a grin again. "It's a secret."

Of course. _I'm a great secret-keeper, you know_ , she had said once to him. He'd transcribed this information onto the Board. The possibility she could keep the most terrifying secret had haunted him, after all. But perhaps she merely referred to her elusive places to paint.

That, and only that.

Though he couldn't shake the thought, he smiled back. "I look forward to it."

And the date was done.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy didn't allow himself the luxury of relief. Sure, Delia didn't seem to be the spy, but that still left three possibilities. And Regina was the next hot topic on his list.

He tried to school his face into a modest nervousness, unlike the anxiety exploding within him, as he sat in silence in the limo. He'd dropped Delia and their paintings back at the palace, and raced to their next destination with only a small break in between. Regina was to meet him there, unlike the other girls, who had voted to go with him from the palace.

Why would she want to meet him there? His thoughts poured through him with doubt and dread. It was a potential opportunity to set up their date as a trap. But maybe she just liked to prepare mentally beforehand.

Regina had chosen a bizarre café themed like that of a rainforest for their date. As Roy entered, guarded by Durante and Acketeer, and flanked further by Clarity and Rainerd, he had to duck to avoid the real trees that drooped overhead. Flowerbeds burst with vibrant, exotic colours. Opaque tubes carried cerulean waters with all sorts of vivid fish and sea life across the ceiling, allowing the grass-coloured carpets to glimmer with iridescence. To his right, a generous waterfall funnelled water into a luminous turquoise rock pool. Cicadas buzzed a low din, and butterflies flittered through the humid air.

It was as if he'd been transported to the Amazon rainforest. Roy peeled his coat and suit jacket from him, loosening his tie and top button as he did. He searched the madness for a moment before a familiar, "Roy!" tethered his gaze to her. Regina waved madly from a green booth, snug for two people, and he weaved between the giant trunks and spindly ferns to reach her.

No one else around. She'd emptied the café for him. And it made his nerves buzz with ominous anticipation.

Durante and Acketeer seated themselves into the booth next door. And Roy knew, somewhere the Delacroix and the anti-spy team had set up store to keep watch for any more suspicious activity.

Any sign that Regina was the spy.

Regina grinned. "Hi, Your Royal Highness!"

Roy knew Regina was odd, and today, her dress sense match. She wasn't wearing a dress; her top half was a dusk pink silk shirt, with the buttons shaped like stylised eyes. Her pleated skirt was woven with so many beads Roy had to wonder whether she could feel them on her butt when she sat down. Chiffon roses were sewn across the hem, with layered pearls and golden sequins creating luscious wave patterns. She was bare enough that the artificial heat wouldn't get her too much, unlike him in his suit.

Roy felt the sweat gluing to him. The air was probably deliberately sticky to let the foreign trees and plants survive, but it only served to make the stray strands of his hair cling to his forehead. He slid into the booth, and luckily, their seats were air conditioned from above.

"You look lovely, Lady Regina," he said. Immediately he noticed that their booth was much smaller from up close. The table hardly covered his legs, let alone provided enough space for them to share. He was practically sitting next to her.

Sneaky. She'd probably scouted the entire café to find just the right one.

Regina waved him off dismissively with a flamboyant hand gesture and flushed. "Aw, you're making me red, Roy!"

He realised the heat would probably make her even more red. "What is this place?"

"It's Jungle Jingle's Rainforest Café!" she chanted. "And one of my favourite cafés as a kid. They have chains nation-wide! The one in Bankston's a lot smaller though, and they definitely wouldn't clear their reservations list if it was just me coming along." Her grin was wide and undeterred. "Do you like it?"

"It's certainly unique," he said. He'd never been to this chain restaurant before. "I take it the food is good?"

"Oh, the food is _fantastic!"_ Regina clapped her hands together. "You're going to love it!"

At least Regina was in a good spirits. His mood was as dampened by the spy fiasco as his hair was by the heat. He'd have to slip in a quick shower before his next date, for sure.

Clarity and Rainerd took a mountain of photos, asking them to just 'act natural' as flashes of light snapped from around them. Soon enough, they had finished, and waited in the shadows to take more candid photos of them talking and eating. The waiter approached them then, in what looked like jungle-traversing gear – like Indiana Jones – and left them with their menus. The food was as whacky as Roy expected: Forest Floor salad, venison marinated in coconut, a flan that looked like a Venus flytrap flower. Their beverages, aside from the regular soft drinks, had exotic cocktails with unique flavours, such as Amazonian Kick and Palm Tree Panic, with alcohol he'd never even heard of.

He glanced over at Regina, but her eyes were trained to the menu. Oddly, he'd noticed, she lacked her usual notepad and pen. It was like seeing Regina without her vibrant clothes – something vital about her was missing. Prominent enough that Ji-Yu had made him feature her on the Board.

 _Regina writes everything down_.

Maybe she had decided not to today because it was no longer necessary. Because it was Roy's last day as a free man. He tried not to let it concern him as he perused the menu.

"I think I'll have the Thicket Pigeon," Roy said, "with the honey-roasted parsnips and buttered garlic potatoes. You?"

Regina closed the menu and placed it down. "I don't even know why I bother reading this when I know I'll get the exact same thing."

"And that is?"

"Jungle Jingle's Epic Tofu Burger," she replied. Her eyes seemed to glaze over at the words. "It's _sooo_ tasty."

He believed her, all right. The way her attention seemed to snag on her thoughts of such an epic food item was indication enough.

The waiter took both their food and drink orders – Roy ordered a Coke, whilst Regina went all out and ordered some sort of liqueur. No holds barred for her, it seemed.

Would a spy drink alcohol on the job?

Roy didn't have time to ponder on it before Regina searched her bag, and pulled it – unsurprisingly – a sheet of paper and a pen.

"I thought, whilst we wait, we could play a game," she said. "It's a silly, old game from many years ago, but I think it really helps people to understand each other." On her sheet, she wrote four letters: M-A-S-H. "It's called MASH."

He stared at the sheet as Regina continued to doodle more things, like _Favorite Cars_ , _Favorite Celebrities, Future Wife,_ and _Number of Kids_. She finished it with a square, drawn in the middle.

"Like… potato mash?" he said, not understanding whatsoever.

She shook her head. "It's just a prediction game. What your future will be like. The MASH stands for a type of house: mansion, apartment, shed and house." She stared into the trees for a moment. "Though I guess all these pale in comparison to the palace, but _PASH_ doesn't have the same ring. These other things will also be predictions of your future as well."

Roy didn't really get it, but hey, it seemed like a good way to keep his mind off things. Warily, he cast a glance around them – this was the perfect distraction to his surroundings, and he hoped the guards were remaining vigilant, even if he himself wasn't.

"Right!" Regina chirruped. "Name me some cars!"

Roy had next to no interest in cars, so he rattled off a list at the top of his head: a Bentley, a limo, a Rolls Royce. Regina added a bicycle and Sashi's motorcycle. They did the same for the other categories. His favourite celebrities, who would apparently become his next best friend, ended up being a joke list, consisting of Romilda van der Voort, Vana Tyler, Levinia Lefray, Katrina Berg (though he questioned how 'celebrity' she really was) and, just for kicks, Gail.

When they reached the _Selected Girls_ category, Regina seemed to shy.

"This one's your future wife."

He baulked. _Oh_.

A slow heat crawled up his cheeks. Whoever was on this list would be the prediction to be his future wife.

"So… what should I put down?"

Regina shrugged, though he could tell it was forced. "Whichever five names you want."

Well, it would've been awkward not to put her first. He decided to play it fair and include the other three girls he was dating today: Delia Colestrist, Skylar Davenport, and Alisa Orlov, plus the last official date he went on, which was Luna Bellini-Torres.

Regina had since flushed – he had to wonder how much she wanted the MASH game to predict her as his future wife. She pressed her pen into the square and said, "Right, now, you tell me when to stop drawing."

She began drawing a spiral, each swirl turning deeper within itself. Roy said, "Stop," when she reached five levels.

"Five," Regina asserted. "So, now, we go through all your options, and cross out the ones when we hit five."

She counted, dotting her pen each time, and started on _MASH_. The fifth count landed on the first car, a Bentley, and she crossed it off.

"What does that mean?" Roy asked, still perplexed.

"It means your future car is _not_ a Bentley," she said, still slightly flustered from the list. "We keep going until each category only has one option. You see?"

She continued a few more times. Regina ended up going out first from the future wives, which he could see deflated her a bit, though he was glad to see Katrina go from his best friends list, at least. Regina continued multiple times until he was left with several things crossed out and one from each category circled.

"So," she began, with a booming voice like an announcement. "Prince Roy. You will live in a house with your wife, Alisa Orlov," – he couldn't help but think how awkwardly ironic that was – "Your bike will transport you everywhere, your best friend will be Gail, and you will have… five thousand and twelve children."

The laughter almost choked him. "Oh my god. I must've been busy."

" _Real_ busy," Regina said, frowning at that number. "You must be popping out conceptions at an astronomical rate!"

He laughed harder. "Poor Alisa."

Regina attempted to snuff a giggle, though it sprouted from her anyway. "Poor Alisa indeed!"

Even if it was awkward, they still found it hilarious. When their laughter trailed off, Regina tapped her sternum. "My turn!"

So they flipped the paper over to start Regina's MASH. Her _Future Partners_ , he noted, had him at the top, with several men and woman listed below. He copied her spiral, finishing with three levels, and Regina did the counting with the speed of an expert.

After they'd done, Regina cleared his throat, "Lady Regina Landowski will live in a mansion, riding a limo, with four children. Her best friend will be Kody Ommen – he's my best friend for _real_ , by the way – and she will live with her partner" – she arrested herself – "Roy Schreave."

A blush crawled up Roy's cheeks again, already stained with the heat of the room. He peeked at the sheet, and, indeed, his own name was circled.

Well, he already had the mansion and the limo covered. Her best friend was already this Kody guy. If this MASH game could really predict the future, it had already eerily foretold at least some of the truth.

He swallowed, trying to clear the blush from his face, and blabbered, "Wow, that's… ahah…"

Regina giggled – high-pitched, squealing. "Oh, I've made you blush now! Whoops!"

Something about her amusement made his heart titter.

The waiter came to save the day from his embarrassment, serving their steaming dishes of pigeon and tofu burger. Regina's drink came in a fat glass and large chunks of ice, whereas Roy's Coke came in a glass that ballooned at the opening, and a squiggly blue plastic straw. They tucked in without abandon.

Regina clearly had no care for her appearance. She bit into the burger and smeared her red lips with ketchup. Roy had started using his knife and fork with some sort of formality before dropping it entirely; it wasn't often he could eat without the prying eyes of his mother to watch him.

"Is it nice?" Regina asked, after she'd wolfed her burger.

The savoury flavour of the seared pigeon breast matched oddly well with the sweetness of the blueberry dressing, and the bitterness of the rocket salad. "It's great," Roy said in earnest. "You want to try some?"

It came out before he realised. _Oh, god, I just offered to share food with someone_. That was an intimate thing, right? He was so used to sitting amongst his family that the question had just popped free.

Regina flushed and quietened again. "Oh, well, thank you, I'm flattered, but I'm vegetarian."

Of _course_ she was vegetarian. She ordered a _tofu_ burger! Roy winced inwardly and tried to chew as slowly as he could, just to avoid responding, but it only served to prolong the awkward moment.

Regina laughed before he could say anything. "You know, you're real funny, Roy."

Roy downed his food, suddenly conflicted. Part of him knew – of course, he _was_ hilarious. The other, more humble part of him squirmed at the idea of being ladled a compliment so easily.

"Thank you," he mumbled eventually.

She stuck out her tongue. "You blush _so_ easily. Wow. I thought I was bad, giggling and being girly and all." She swirled her liqueur in her hand, and it occurred to Roy that maybe even the tiniest vestige of the drink was talking less than Regina herself. "You're kind of dorky. But, like, _cute_ dorky, you know? Sure, you like to drink a lot, but you do it with your own charm, your own style. The media sort of plays up your rogue-ish _bad boy_ act, but you're not really very _hardcore_ or _edgy_ in person at all. I like that."

That stupid Merrick blush reared its head on his face again. _Cute dorky?_ She was right in that everyone seemed to think him some Hardass Drunkard Edgelord, but now that he thought about it, he'd adopted the moniker more for show than actually lived it.

He was just _Cute, Dorky_ Roy most of the time.

Words flapped uselessly in his mouth, and he stammered, "T-Thanks."

Regina giggled again. "There you go. Cute, dorky Roy."

He liked it _way_ more than he was going to admit.

They finished their food, entering into the dessert portion of their date, and Roy found himself far more chipper than he'd expected. Whether it was the ease with which he could talk to Regina, or maybe just Regina's chattiness, that made him feel more comfortable, something was pulling him from his trepidation as if he was being washed free from a heavy pool of tar.

"Regina," he said at one point, "can I ask you something?"

She leant forward in her hands and batted her eyelids. "Sure!"

This boldness was probably because he felt so at ease. "Why do you write everything down?"

She cocked her head and grinned, as if she didn't even need to consider her answer. "Because I enjoy it! It really helps me get to know people, you know?" She pursed her lips. "Most people think memory works like a camera, recording things that you can instantly go back to, but nope. Memory is actually very poor, and so when I write things down, it helps me to remember details and history from people, or funny things they say." She juggled her head back and forth. "I don't actually write _everything_ down. Just things that interest me, or things of note. I guess that's my psychology training coming in. You know, the mind is a sea of fading souls that if you don't nurture, you will never remember."

This was way too deep for Roy. He didn't have any alcohol in his system to comprehend it. "Wow, that was way more in-depth than I expected."

She chattered on. "Now, your mom for example. She is _so_ interesting. I love writing stuff about her down because all of it is gold." Her eyes bulged with fascination. "She's graceful, elegant, but also fearsome!"

Roy suffocated his laugh. "She is?"

"Oh, yeah! And she's not afraid to show it! And I admire that."

They continued to talk for what felt like a long time, about Ji-Yu and his family, life at the palace and the Selection (Regina even asked "How does that make you feel?"). And though it sat at the back of his mind like a ten-tonne weight, Roy almost – _almost_ – forgot he was still wondering if Regina was a rebel.

As they ordered their desserts, it became clear with each ticking second that the rebels weren't coming. That her notes had just been a curiosity of hers.

Regina wasn't the spy.

 _For now_ , that little shard of doubt scolded in his head. Like Delia, there was always a chance she was the spy, but hadn't taken advantage of the opportunity.

For now, he hoped, prayed, _begged_ , that she wasn't. That Regina was as innocent as her giggles and jokes. She had an iridescent personality to match her iridescent style.

And so the second date ended.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

With only two girls left, Roy had to wonder whether _neither_ of his remaining choices was guilty.

There was the little things, he noticed, that maybe indicated something unusual. But, again, he could always be blowing it out of proportion, and it muddled with his thoughts, his confidence.

He tried not to lose faith as he embarked on his afternoon date with Skylar Davenport.

After a quick shower and a suit change, he awaited Skye at the entrance to the palace. Instead of a dress or formal wear, Skye had graced him in sports gear: a long-sleeved clingy grey T-shirt and leggings, her elbows and shins armoured with pads. The T-shirt cut before her stomach, revealing her toned figure, her smooth skin. Roy tried hard not to stare, and definitely tried not to think on it for too long. The insignia on her clothes read _Davenport Sports Resorts_ , printed in red, and her blonde locks were curled, but held back in a ponytail. Strategic free strands shaped her face in a heart.

She blessed him with a bright smile and a thumbs-up. "You ready to have your world… _rocked?"_

He choked out a snort. "That was terrible."

She paused. "Yeah. All right. I'll give you that."

The limo meandered through the streets of Los Angeles and into Pasadena, where Skye's parents owned a sports centre with rock-climbing facilities. She chattered amiably the whole way and bantered with Roy, eager to know how the other dates went. Roy indulged her, if only to prevent her disappointment, until they reached the sports facility.

Bare of other customers, the rock-climbing wall was nearly as tall as the room – at least ten metres high, if not more – tucked into the back of the sports facility. The rocks ranged in steepness along the wall, with shallow slopes on some sections, and steep, vertical drops on others. The protruding sections of rocks were rainbow-coloured against the beige of the plywood, and long, stiff cords dangled from anchors. Roy could see there was enough space to stand between the top of the rock, where the anchors were fixed, and the ceiling.

His gaze snagged the security cameras in the corners in the room. Though Durante and Acketeer waited outside, just by the double doors Delacroix and the other guards had probably settled into the CCTV room to watch.

If anything went down, they'd know.

Roy was quickly ushered to a changing room and given a loose white T-shirt, with the _Davenport Sports Resort_ print, and a pair of loose shorts. A green helmet, too, and a green harness to match. The bareness of it all, compared to his suit, liberated him. He'd never worn casual clothes in front of his Selected before, which made him feel even more vulnerable about the situation than the demanding presence of him in his formal wear.

Skye followed inside after Roy, with a backpack, and a red helmet and harness. Confidence bled from her, and he could only guess she was ready to tackle anything. Rocks, _or_ romance.

"Are ya' ready, Roy?"

Roy gulped. His last climbing experience, mere days ago with Camilla Daugherty in the tree, had not ended well for him. The healing cut on his right leg was testament to this. He could see it, a welt along the length of his skin.

"That cut along my leg?" he said. "From climbing."

She glanced at it briefly before grinning. "Hey, don't worry. We were all beginners once." She flicked her blonde ponytail. "And nothing can hurt you here."

 _Wrong_ , he thought wistfully. A shiver travelled up his spine. _A spy wants to hurt me_.

Skye seemed lost in her own world as she spun to face the wall. "Let's get started."

After Clarity and Rainerd had taken their pictures, they suited up to climb. It was obvious Skye had done this before. She knew that the helmet and harness colour corresponded to a cord colour – hers, red, and his, green. She knew how to attach it and how to fasten the buckles. Roy watched, trying to copy, but she was too fleet with her fingers.

When Skye noticed his stumped face, she burst into a healthy laugh. "You really don't have any idea, do you?"

"Not a clue."

She came close to him. Her short stature meant she didn't reach his height, but only an inch of air separated their bodies. Her fingers ghosted over his T-shirt, and occasionally she would brush his arms with her own. Heat plumed within Roy, and he tried to distract himself as Skye helped to attach his harness and the cord, and made sure his carabiner was secure.

 _She could be the spy_ , he thought, but for once, even thoughts of the Southern Rebels couldn't take his mind of their closing distance.

Skye made one last pull on his harness. "All set." Her voice had quietened. She wasn't blushing, but she looked away when she stepped back from him. "Anyway!" She balled a fist and punched the palm of her hand. "Let's attack this wall!"

How did she manage to _not_ blush? His stupid brain was still focused on the charge between them. Alas, Roy still tried, but failed, to match her gusto. "Let's do it."

The adrenaline rush started low within his gut, before rising like a dragon from slumber, coursing through muscle and bone. When he stepped up to the wall and climbed onto the first protruding rocks – _jugs_ , Skye called them, on this section of the wall – his hands shook with nerves, and his legs jittered like jelly. The wall was a _lot_ bigger from up close.

The first haul was the hardest, but somehow, he managed to climb two jugs. He grounded his leg into each until both his feet were in the air.

Skye was next to him, and her climbing was good enough that she probably rivalled Camilla in speed and dexterity, but she waited a few jugs up for him at least. "Nice!" she called. "Keep it up! We have to get to the top!"

He wheezed out (whoa, were his lungs really _that_ bad?), "The top looks _miles_ away!"

She barked a laugh. "That's the fun of it!" She winked. "It's pretty private up there, too."

The implications enveloped him, and that stupid blush fought his tan for cheek space once more. He stumbled through some incoherent babble and attempted to climb higher.

They continued in determined silence. A new atmosphere had permeated the room. A desire to succeed. Roy couldn't talk as he climbed – it would snap his concentration in two – but it was strange not to interact, given that his last two dates had him jabbering away about nothing and everything.

When he reached a flat level in the rock, Roy rolled onto the surface and inhaled a deep breath, shutting his eyes. He hadn't reached the top of the wall yet, but he was pleased that he'd made enough progress not to embarrass himself.

The light darkened, and Roy opened his eyes to see Skye hovering over him with a big grin. "How'd you find that?"

" _Exhausting_ ," he admitted.

Skye only giggled. "Well, how about a nice vertical climb from now on?"

It sent jolts of dread through Roy's heart, and he shook his head rapidly. "I know I'm _the prince_ , and I claim I can do anything, but this is my limit, Skye."

Her giggle turned into a snort. "I know. I can see by the sweat dribbling from your armpits."

Well, _that_ was attractive.

Roy groaned, and managed to stand. "I'm sorry. I haven't been to a gym in ages, and I certainly never worked on full-body exercises." He grinned. "I look way hotter doing weights."

Skye smirked. "I'm sure you do, sweaty boy," she said, jerking her head to the side, "but, luckily for you, there's a beginner's section of the wall. Nice and sloped."

He followed her eyes and, indeed, there was a generous section of the wall that was angled almost forty-five degrees – enough that gravity wouldn't go full-on _smack down_ against him like a heavyweight wrestler on a kitten – with plenty of jugs, crags and cracks for his pathetic arms to seize.

His face must have shown his slight embarrassment as Skye beamed a more sympathetic smile.

"I'll join you, if you want?" She cleared her throat. "We can… climb together."

Now _that_ was more date-like. He nodded, smiling at the idea. "Sure."

They yanked over their cords to his easy-peasy section and began the ascent once more. Skylar kept pace with him, though it was obvious she could go much faster.

As she pivoted to face him with encouragement, he noticed the _Davenport Sports Resort_ logo. He remembered her mentioning that she liked to snowboard, and that her parents owned a sports resort like this in Ottaro.

"Your parents own this place?"

Her helmet tipped with her nod. "Well, yes, sort of," she hesitated, and he wondered if she wasn't really up for talking about her family, "my mom owns this overall, but Dad is the face of the company. He sometimes makes promotional videos with me."

He could only imagine that her family were as gung-ho as Skye was in regards to sport.

"My mom's actually here today. In Los Angeles," she said, with sudden confidence. "I've told her all about you and the palace and the Selection. All the crazy good food and fancy dresses, too. She was practically dying to meet you!"

Wouldn't be the first. He went to straighten his tie as he did when he received such a compliment, but his neck was bare. "She's welcome to say hi. Nothing better to put on Instagraph than a selfie with the prince."

Her face softened with sadness. "Ah, well, she's busy, running the place and all. Doing errands and stuff."

Were they close? Roy couldn't help but wonder. There was a kindle of fortitude in her eyes. Not the same as her usual upbeat confidence, but more… dogged. More grim.

Roy decided it was better to change the subject. "Next time, perhaps. But for now, let's focus on this wall."

Skye brightened at those words, as if her soul had returned to her body. "Let's do this!"

It took Roy a good half an hour, and a lot of Skye yelling encouragement at him, but he did it. They made it to the top of the wall. As he rolled onto the last surface, elation razed the rest of his doubts. He'd actually done it! There was something satisfying know he'd achieved something he hadn't thought he would.

Skye climbed up after him and heaved a breath. Sweat mottled her brow, and she wiped them with her wristbands, and she helped him stand. "Whew. That was a workout." She grinned at Roy. "Nice job!"

"I did it," Roy said aloud, breathless.

He looked around. It wasn't much to look at, and it disappointed Roy that the highest point didn't seem much like a physical reward for his eyes. Davenport posters plastered the walls, though the line was bisected by a door fixed with a green medical kit. It was shut tight, so Roy assumed it was for easy access to below.

Luckily, there was one camera trained to them in the corner. If there'd been none, Roy might have suddenly feared for his life.

"Erm," Skye said, pulling him from his thoughts. She tugged at her T-shirt collar. "Actually, I was thinking… can I kiss you, Roy?"

It took him a second to realise what she'd asked.

 _A kiss_.

A sudden rush of heat bowled over him again. _Whoa_. That was entirely _not_ what he was expecting.

His eyes danced over her lips. Plump and soft, they were pursed in hesitation, in anticipation. She looked at the floor – for once, a sense of humility had washed over her, her poise, making her shoulders sink, and her hands bunch together. They were both sweaty and fatigued from the climb. Roy couldn't see himself, yet he knew he didn't exactly look the picture of a handsome prince right now.

And yet… he sort of wanted it.

"I mean," Skye said suddenly, "you know, I guess I just… I wanna' know what it feels like. You see?"

The thought made Roy's head spin. Maybe it was just the adrenaline popping through him. Maybe it was just the adrenaline speaking for her.

He'd kissed Selected on the cheek. Lilly Carter had been the first recipient.

Never on the lips.

At least, if he counted Levinia's lusty make-out sessions, not one that really _mattered_.

But this... this would be his _real_ first kiss. One that maybe meant something.

His heart thundered in his chest. His doubts – the _spy_ – flickered momentarily in his mind. He shouldn't use these dates to smooch and coddle. He was doing this, ultimately, to uncover the spy. To find out who she was.

But, like Rudy had said… these dates were also to find his future wife. The opportunity was ripe, and Skye was a willing participant as much as he wanted to be, too.

His breath hitched. "Okay," he whispered.

She met his gaze. Hers swirled in a deep green shade. He made that first step towards her, but Skye rubbed her hands together, cleared her throat. He waited, seeing if she would move to accept her requests.

"Sorry," she said. It was low, barely audible. "I… I'm not good in romantic situations."

"We don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

But Skye shook her head. "No, I… I _want_ to. I just… I'll probably mess up."

A chuckle broke from Roy's throat. "We were all beginners once."

A wicked smile split her trembling lips in two. "You got me good there. I— _oh_ , I nearly forgot."

But instead of stepping closer, she reached behind and pulled something from her backpack. A small, silver cylinder.

She popped the cap and Roy realised. Lipstick.

It was as red as the sweetest roses, and carefully traced along her lips. They turned blood red under the colour. She didn't smack them, instead, taking a deep breath and puckering. "Right. Okay." She loosed a breath. "I'm ready."

That same electricity charged through him as she stepped closer. The gap between them closed, and she looked up. Whorls of emerald shone in her eyes, curious and shimmering with excitement and eagerness. He tried not to shake.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she stood on her tiptoes. Their helmets bumped together, which made them both chuckle breathily, but didn't deter them.

He was going to kiss Skylar Davenport.

Roy reached down. He could taste her breath – minty, and fresh.

And then the doors burst open.

"Your Highness!"

Roy jerked back. Durante.

The jittery feeling of a first kiss had dissolved within him, replaced with a fear that boomed like thunder. He scrambled to the edge and peered down.

Indeed, Durante had appeared through the doors. Acketeer was behind him, more flustered than serious.

"Your Highness," Durante said, more breathless than he'd ever seen him. "It's urgent. You're required home immediately."

The fear escalated within him, climbing and scaling him as easily as the wall. He swallowed a plethora of terrified words and managed, "What's wrong?"

Even from up here, Durante's focus seemed to have scattered. But his eyes drifted to next to Roy, and he regained some composure. "It's— urgent. I'd… rather speak with you in person about it on the way back to the palace."

The sentence came out in one breath.

Roy glanced to his side. Disappointment radiated from Skye like clouds that had covered her sun. She pressed her lips together and said, "Go," to Roy.

He had no idea what was wrong, and dread and terror festered in his mind. Drying him of his previous tranquillity. "I— I'm sorry."

Roy knew he'd have to make it up to her.

"It's okay," Skye said, but the light bitterness in her tone suggested not. She unlatched their harnesses and gestured to the door. "Here. This way is faster."

The door led to a cold stairwell back to the lobby. It was much easier than going up, but the relief of this was lost on Roy, his mind too occupied with the current situation.

The Southern Rebels?

No. It couldn't be. Durante would have been even more desperate to escape. He probably would've made Roy just _jump_ for him to catch. As Roy reappeared in the lobby and shucked his rock-climbing gear, he noticed the rest of the spy team waiting outside the door. They looked just as confused as he felt.

Delacroix's face was grim. He wasn't giving away any clues either.

"Officer Acketeer," Roy said – his voice trembled, but he tried to inject some form of command, "I want you to stay with Skye until another limo comes to pick her up."

Acketeer looked like she didn't have a clue either. Her eyes slanted to Skye with a frown, but she saluted and said, "Yes, sir."

Skye came beside him. "I'm not going with you?" Her voice was small.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's… a matter of security."

He left her and Acketeer in the lobby, and as he did, guilt galloped through him. No end in sight. Roy could only hope, later, she'd forgive him. Surely, she understood the severity of the situation, anyway.

Roy, Durante and Delacroix clambered into the limo. Roy didn't dare relax as the vehicle sped away.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Delacroix's eyes slid to Durante, and he made a face – unusual for him. It was a face that said, _you can take this one, not me_.

Durante's shoulders tensed. "Well… Your Highness." He took a deep breath. "It's not the Southern Rebels."

As Roy suspected. Still, to say it aloud made it concrete, and he relaxed into the leather chairs.

"Good," he said. "Is my family all right?"

"Fine," Durante replied. "It's… not so much a family matter as it is… a matter with your Selected."

Roy sat bolt right up again. Anxiety caged him.

"Are they okay?"

Durante stilled. "… Yes, but…"

If they weren't hurt, and it wasn't the Southern Rebels, what sort of emergency was this?

"Just spit it out, please," Roy said.

Durante loosed a breath, though his hands were clenched on his lap. "It's Advisor Ramsbottom. He discovered a Selected… kissing another man."

It felt like someone had punched Roy in the gut.

A Selected. With _another man_.

He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to know. But as his thoughts cleared from the initial shock, and anger and rage began to swell within him, he put forward the question.

"Who?"

The sheer pity from his guard was enough indication that the revelation would destroy him.

"Lady Alisa Orlov," Durante murmured, "… and Prince Barnabas Windsor."

* * *

 **A/N:** Le gasp! What do you think of the dates? Who do you think is the spy? And what has happened between Alisa and Barney?! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Sorry about the length as well, I usually like to keep it between 3 and 8.5k (this is 8.7k) but I've had to forgo that to fit everything in. The next few chapters are about this length too, but if I broke them into smaller chapters, the endings wouldn't be enough of a darstardly cliffhanger for my, possibly evil, tastes (I LIKE READER PAIN OKAY?). Plus you're made to wait longer for content, so. :D

A new poll is up, and it concerns **who makes it into the Elite** , so don't forget to cast your vote! I'll probably close it a week or so from now. Ten votes each, so choose wisely!

Fun fact: I actually had to do Roy's MASH, and I have never laughed so hard as I did when I circled "5012 children". XD

Reviews, favourites, and follows appreciated! Thanks for reading, lovelies!

~ GWA

NTT: "Is it true you're conspiring against us? Against Illéa?"


	39. Seeing Shadows

Roy barely remembered the limo ride back to the palace.

His mind was too occupied with rage, and anger. Fury, and hurt. He wanted to pour out his wrath, to devastate, to sob and weep. A flurry of emotions crashed through him in an infinite loop.

He just managed to register Durante's useless apology: "I'm sorry this has happened, Your Highness."

 _A Selected… kissing another man._

 _Lady Alisa Orlov… and Prince Barnabas Windsor_.

 _Barney_. Stupid, foolish prince.

And Alisa…

Roy didn't know what to make of her.

He nearly collided with Ji-Yu when he returned to the palace. Her hands were clenched together. Her eyes were sharp and unforgiving. Her _hanbok_ was smooth and creaseless.

She was a queen. Nothing less.

A morsel of him was just glad that her anger wasn't directed at him for once. But then the rest of him thought that he'd prefer it to the current situation.

"Where are they?" he asked, his voice cutting.

Ji-Yu lifted her head. "Incarcerated. In the Shell Wing."

The Shell Wing. Where they'd kept Jordan Iscariot and Yuriko Sato when they'd been embroiled in business with the Southern Rebels. He decided then that he didn't like that place – only horrible things occurred there.

Roy sucked at his teeth. "What about Ramsbottom? And Dad?"

"They're both waiting for you there, along with Lady Chi," she replied. Her arm outstretched. "Currently, we, and the rest of the court, as the only ones who know. So let's not keep them waiting."

Roy pitied any maid or butler who crossed their path on the way to the Shell Wing. Two irate royals and two hulking guards were enough to send anyone scurrying. Roy led the way, marching with tunnel vision. Everything seemed to be bleeding red. Something dark and angry coiled around his heart, as each beat seemed to send another savage pulse through him.

In the Shell Wing, its nautical-themed carpets and curtains veiled in dust, Roy followed the stairs down to the imprisonment area. He didn't have time to wonder what was straight ahead at the fork, as the staircase led him down the stairs and into the thin corridor with the low-ceiling, lined with cells. Ji-Yu paused at a steel door immediately on the left, and they entered.

Inside was much like the other cell rooms Roy had seen. Barren walls and floors. A panel with several controls. A one-way mirror, peering into a gloomy cell with a table, chair and manacles.

The manacles were clasped around Alisa Orlov.

He'd never seen a girl so removed. Her hair was a mess, her face was blotchy with tears. There was even a rip down the ruffles of chiffon on her off-shoulder dress. He could only guess she was dragged with some measure of force down here and chained up like an animal.

Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe what Ramsbottom had seen was some misty illusion. That Alisa could never have been charmed by the snake Barnabas Windsor.

Coming into the antechamber to Ramsbottom and Merrick arguing, however, set the moment in stone.

Ramsbottom's face was as deep and purple as a bruise. His eyes flashed with rage. If he was uncomfortable with the fact that he was screaming at his king, he didn't show it.

"—foreign prince has shown up on our shores and _defiles_ this Selection with lies and scandal! This was an act of war and _we must retaliate against them!"_

Roy's anger was punctured.

 _An act of war_.

He didn't know how to respond to that.

He sidled in with Ji-Yu and Gemima, with Delacroix and Durante waiting in the corridor outside. The room was stifling with the intensity of the argument.

Merrick tightened his stance. "It was _not_ an act of war! This was the act of a stupid boy who doesn't know any better!"

They considered Barney's actions so drastic that they had to consider that he was here… to _deliberately_ ruin their relations.

Shock bled through the holes of Roy's anger.

Ramsbottom sneered. "Your Majesty, with respect, you are _biased_. He is your own _nephew_. And he is a _man_ , at twenty-two years of age, and capable of choosing his own actions." His fingers crunched into a fist. "This was a measured act on their part to fragment our alliance."

Roy's heart rate soared at the words. "But… how?" It felt like an intrusion to speak.

"Why else would he cause such a scandal? Why else would he engage in an illicit relationship with a common girl?" Ramsbottom's proposed question hung in the air like a dead corpse. "True allies wouldn't dare commit such a heinous crime against a sovereignty, and within our own walls, too! If they wanted to start a war with dramatics, this is how they decide to do it."

"You said it yourself. Barnabas is my nephew," Merrick countered, his lips trembling with force. "My _sister's son_. She was Princess here, once, you know. The Windsor boys would never want to break our alliance, and Philippa would never want to make enemies of us."

"She's on her way out, and you know that," muttered Ramsbottom. "Her, _and_ King George. The crown will soon be Alexander's to command. What better time to kill any solidarity between us?"

Something squeezed Roy's lungs short of breath.

 _Alex is getting the throne soon?_

He'd had no idea. No idea. This was so jarringly significant that he nearly backed up against a wall to steady himself.

"And, can you deny," Ramsbottom turned to look at Roy, "that the Princes of the United Kingdom Commonwealth and our own Prince of Illéa have a tumultuous relationship?"

The words eked another hole through, wider. Hollowing Roy out.

Merrick stilted. His poise slid. "I don't deny it." He fired up in seconds. "But you know that Alex and Barney have had a strained relationship with Roy since _childhood_."

"I can't ignore that their strained relationship _began_ in childhood, but it has certainly never improved since then. Neither has done anything to temper their relationship with His Highness, and Barnabas himself has only goaded it by beseeching his brother at every turn."

Roy felt the world still underneath his feet.

But… Barney _had_ done something. _Many_ things. Though Roy may have ignored it before just to confirm his own bias, Barney had been trying to repair a relationship that was nearly lost in the wind.

He'd tried to be positive to Roy about Officer Acketeer. He'd vehemently defended Alisa's decision to accompany him around the palace. He'd comforted her, and kept watch over her. He passed a disappointed frown when Roy did something stupid. He told Alex to stop mocking Roy the day after the party.

Besides that, he and Alex _had_ argued. Just a few days ago. Roy had overheard them. And who knows how many arguments had occurred after that. The whole palace could have heard their yelling that day.

If _that_ was encouragement… if _that_ was their idea of breaking up a delicate comradery…

Ramsbottom's lips curled upwards in disgust, unbeknownst to Roy's revelation. "These princes have taken advantage of their visit here to uproot and fracture us. They seek to crumble our alliance and initiate a war that perhaps, in their eyes, has been long time coming. I've caught sight of his bigger picture." His eyes turned to Roy's. "And it is time you do the same."

Silence blanketed them, but Roy's mind was anything but silent. Emotion overwhelmed him, attacked him from every side. Ramsbottom's suggestions were acts of war, pure and simple, but… it just didn't match what Roy had witnessed himself.

If anything, he could only guess the true reason he was locked up in a cell right now, with Alisa.

It was what he feared all along.

A stupid boy and his stupid heart.

"We must _act_ ," Ramsbottom insisted finally. "We must confront Prince Alexander and show that we do not tolerate insubordination. That we will fight, if necessary. Prince Barnabas must be heavily punished, and if that means keeping him prisoner when we eject Alexander from our country, so be it." He grunted. "As for the girl, she must be punished for her involvement as well, in a thorough, _public_ caning."

For moments, his previous thoughts flew from his head. He cared so much for his Alisa that his heart throbbed at the idea. It was painful to see her so torn and dishevelled, and each day he'd dwelled on their disastrous date, even for just a shard of a moment. And this… Roy struggled to imagine, if it was true, that she could ingrain herself so deeply with politics and warfare.

He didn't want Alisa whipped. It was too harsh a punishment.

Roy stole a moment to watch her. As she was now, it was hard to imagine her bunched up in Barney's arms. That their hands had intertwined, that their lips had touched, that they had thought themselves carefree and exempt from the system.

But as she was now, ragged and red from tears, he could also imagine it _perfectly_.

Just being locked up had her shaken. Now Roy had to figure out how he could avoid forcing her caned.

Seizing the moment, he said, "Where's Barney right now?"

Gemima spoke for the first time, oddly emotionless in the heat of the room. "Next door."

"I want to speak to them. Both of them."

Merrick, Ji-Yu and Ramsbottom exchanged dissenting glances.

"Your Highness," sputtered Ramsbottom, the swift direction change clearly jarring to him. "It would be best to interrogate them separately—"

"No." Roy cut him off. "Regardless of… your thoughts, this is _my_ Selection. They have committed treason against _me_. I wish to make a judgement myself and speak to both of them."

Ji-Yu and Merrick exchanged glances. Merrick still didn't look happy about it – about anything – but he gave a nod. Ji-Yu, too, nodded.

"Very well. I'll have Delacroix unchain Barnabas and move him into this cell temporarily." Ji-Yu clasped her hands together. "In the meantime, we will organise an emergency meeting with the court to… discuss this matter."

Roy and Gemima moved into another antechamber as the transfer was done whilst his parents and Ramsbottom left. Both were deathly silent, at least allowing Roy the moment to compose himself. To stew in anger, but also to think about what he was going to say.

What _was_ he going to say?

Nothing could make this better. Nothing they said or did could rewind time. Nothing could dislodge a deep root of fear Roy felt for himself, and his country.

Delacroix popped his head through the door. "They're ready."

They returned to the chamber. Roy felt oddly vulnerable still in the _Davenport Sports Resort_ T-shirt and shorts. He stepped to the door and Durante lumbered next to Roy, ready to watch over him.

 _They wouldn't hurt me_ , he thought. _Any more than they already have_.

The door whirred open.

And Roy strode inside.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy knew the way he walked, the way he stood, commanded presence. If he was wearing a suit, perhaps he'd look even more imposing, and his foul mood probably contributed to his ominous aura as well.

But in front of Alisa Orlov and Barnabas Windsor, he could have been a god, come to smite them for their sins.

Like he'd already seen, Alisa's cheeks were stained and salty with tears. Her hair, once a glowing blonde, now seemed damp and dull and stringy with sweat. The chiffon from her shoulder was ripped and hanging limply from her shoulder, but aside from that, she was physically unharmed.

Unshackled now, she was shaking.

Barnabas was right by her side. He looked strangely naked without his tie, with his top button undone, and with his hair as wild as a tornado churning through a garden. The fringe that usually brushed his eyebrows was sticky with tears and clung to his forehead. His eyes, too, were puffy and baggy. Face, red. His title may have meant he was manhandled less than Alisa, but even his expression suggested how rattled the situation had made him.

 _Surely, he wouldn't be so afraid?_ Roy thought, taking in every detail he could. _Surely, he would want this to spite me?_

Both of their eyes were trained onto Roy. He imagined it was what deer looked like just before they were run over by a truck.

The door closed behind him. Durante kept close to the corner of the room, but his eyes were sharp and trained. Vigilant.

Barney's hands trembled in Alisa's. "Roy—"

Like the click of a button, all his emotions flooded into his mouth at once.

"Is it true?"

"What?" Alisa bleated.

He locked eyes with Barney. " _Is it true?"_

Terror radiated from Barney. "Is _what_ true?"

It ballooned Roy's hope, the way he said it.

"Is it true you're conspiring against us? Against Illéa?"

"Against—?" Barney's shake was so frantic Alisa had to hold onto his shoulder. "What? That's— that's nonsense! No. _God_ , no. Of course not. I-I would _never_ jeopardise—"

"Because that's what my advisor is telling me. You and Alisa in that passageway?" Roy shook with anger. "That was the first step to create turmoil between our countries. That this was your dramatic way to destroy our bond and start a goddamn war! _"_

The prospect slammed Barney as much as it had slammed Roy. He was frozen – so still, so unable to comprehend the words. He could have been a statue, carved from ice and stone.

He had no idea. It was obvious now.

"I'd never want to hurt this country! I-I'm half Illéan!" He reached for Alisa's hands, and she offered them. "My mother was born and raised here. I see this place as another _home_. Ramsbottom—" He shook his head again, unrelenting to prove his truth. "It's not true. I swear it. I can't…. I can't even imagine…"

Neither could Roy. He was just relieved it was all an overreaction.

Still his emotions spiralled within him. "Then explain to me what the _hell_ you two were thinking!"

Alisa's eyes slid to Barney's. They met – unspoken words swapped between them. Their hands, hinged together, for comfort.

So after all this time. All Roy's doubts that Barney would attempt something like this. The teasing, the kissing of the hands, the listening at the doors, the tours around the palace.

Her mysterious disappearances. Nothing to do with the spy. Everything to do with _him_.

Roy had known it was a stupid game by Barney, but nothing more. He knew that neither party would ever stoop so low as to commit treason for each other.

And he'd been wrong the whole time.

"How long has this been going on?"

Barney swallowed loudly. "A week."

This was right under his nose for a week. After his date with Alisa.

To think, he'd been planning to take her out for dinner this evening, when she was so blatantly lying like this right to his face. She might've continued the charade had they not been caught.

He met both of their eyes. Made sure they could see the rage, and anger, the fury, and hurt.

"Well, this stunt's only solidified that you're working against us in Ramsbottom's mind. He wants to send troops to your shores. He's As for you, he's eager to see Alisa _caned_. Publically. Is that what you wanted?"

At _punished_ , the fear and terror become lurid on Barney's face, and he sucked in a long, hard breath. Roy had never seen him as hysterical as he was in that fragment in time.

"It's your Selection. You must have some say here," he squealed. "Please. Please don't hurt Alisa."

"Look, I can convince them that you're not some radical seeking a thrill." It sickened Roy, but it fuelled his words. "But one way or another, Alisa committed treason. One way or another, she suffers. And it's _your_ fault."

But Alisa's face puffed up with indignity. Just like the time during their date.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here, Roy! It wasn't all Barney's fault!" she spat. "I _chose_ this! I _chose_ to meet him in the passageways today! I chose to have a date with him!" Tears welled in her eyes. "And when he asked to kiss me, I accepted, because _I wanted to kiss him too_."

The words stabbed Roy.

Alisa held onto Barney's hands more fiercely. "So stop putting all the blame on him when it is shared _equally._ "

He tried to shoo the feeling of humiliation away, but it was stubborn. It clung to him like a vice.

"Well, as it stands, you're _equally_ considered _traitors_ to my country."

The weight of the world seemed to burden Barney's shoulders.

"I promise, Roy. It's not true, and even if it was, I wouldn't even consider bringing Alisa into it," he said. That initial note of pleading had inflated tenfold. "I don't hate you enough for that. Not even Alexander hates you enough to think of something like that. In fact, I… I don't even _hate_ you." He neared Roy, his hands quivering. "Just— there has to be a way that Alisa avoids punishment. I'm begging you."

Roy might have been surprised at the words, but he sure as hell wasn't going to show it.

"I can't guarantee that."

He drew in a shaky breath. "You must. _Please."_ His eyes popped open for a moment. "I told you I read our ancestor's biographies. I've always known the consequences. I know I'm not entitled to diplomatic immunity." He gulped. "The court will demand I pay my dues, and I will. I'll— I'll take a caning. For the _both_ of us. I am _willing to._ "

Alisa was shaking her head. "No— Barney, don't—"

"I won't allow them to hurt you, and if this doesn't show them my dedication to this country, I don't know what will." He stared intensely at Roy. "Please, if not for me, then for Alisa. You care for her. I know you do."

A cold chill danced across Roy's skin. "Not in the way you do."

"No, but you still care. Deeply."

It was true. Part of him almost hated himself for it, but… it was true. No matter how much Alisa's betrayal hurt, her words of passion for someone else singed, he still cared about her. About her little giggles and her effervescent awe.

"If there is any compassion and warmth within you, you will do this for me." Barney dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. The lowest form of servitude he could take. " _Please."_

Pity jolted through him. _Pity_. For _Barney_. It was a rare feeling, but as it reared and bucked within him, anxious for attention, Roy couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Both of you: answer me one question."

"Anything," they both said in unison.

Roy withdrew the rioting thoughts in his head.

"Why?"

He expected a long silence, but Barney didn't even hesitate as he stood up.

"I love her."

It was another blow, and Roy was still irate, but the way Alisa looked at him with hope in that moment… it was enough to pacify the maelstrom of emotions within him. Just for a second.

Barney didn't look anywhere else but Roy though.

"I… I love her," he repeated, with more hesitation. No doubt, Roy was hard to read right now. "Her laughter is as honeyed and carefree as a bird's chorus. Her words are warm like a hot chocolate. She is sweet, and kind. Gentle, and compassionate. I…" He broke off. "At first, it was a joke. I was doing it to rile you. But then… then I got to know Alisa, and I knew I'd made a terrible mistake using her to target you."

Finally, he faced her. His eyes softened. His stance relaxed. The corners of his lips tipped up.

"It was easy for everyone to ignore me, but you did not see a shadow. You saw a person."

For all the contempt Roy felt for Barney, now he only felt… real sorrow at his words.

"And you?" he said to Alisa.

Alisa wasn't looking at Roy. She was gazing at Barney.

It was only the two of them in a vast blackness.

"I love him, too."

It should have been another dagger to Roy's heart, and yet…

Already his heart was healing.

Alisa continued. "Barney thinks so lowly of himself when he has so many wonderful qualities. His sense of humour, and his wit. He is observant. He always knows when something is wrong. I'm not so good with words, but… Barney always knows what to say that will brighten any storm." She palmed his cheek, and he leant into it. "He never cares too little. He always cares too deeply."

It was almost jarring, being on the outside of such intimacy. Like Roy should not have been there. This moment was private. This moment was theirs.

Alisa saddened as she glanced at Roy. Sorrow slumped her shoulders. "I… I never meant to hurt you, Roy. I care for you so much, but…" she smiled at Barney, "another prince has my heart."

It was silence after that.

They separated, awaiting Roy's response. He didn't have one.

This was not an act of war. Not an attempt to severe their ties.

This was an act of love. A foolish, young kind, sure, but love nonetheless.

Would he be the one to break it apart?

Roy bit his lip, trying to climb his way out of this. Though he couldn't have been more thankful that Ramsbottom was wrong, how did he make sure the consequences for their actions appeased everyone? Why would anyone agree to let a prince take all the punishment over a commoner?

He didn't want to fight the hard battles. But if anything like this happened in future, when Roy was king, he couldn't bury his head in the sand. He would have to fight for empathy as he was fighting right now.

Their future, and the future of their countries, rested on him.

"I can't promise leniency," he said eventually. "But… I will talk with the court."

Barney stood back up. "And the caning?" His voice cracked on the verge of tears.

Roy wavered as he said, "You want to take hers?"

"Yes, please," he begged.

He looked at her. "And you're okay with that?"

She clutched Barney's arm, but her face had fallen. "I… I wish he would let me take it, but… I know he's doing it from kindness. He's doing it for me, and there is nothing braver than that."

The radiance in her voice matched her words.

"You'll still be stripped of your caste, and banished from the palace," Roy warned.

"It's nothing in comparison."

"I'll leave and never return," Barney said. "You'll never have to see me again, Roy, but _please,_ convince the court to cane me, and spare her."

The request tumbled in Roy's head, spiralling as if it was crashing down a hill with no end in sight. Every fork in the path seemed the worst.

And yet, he knew Barney had seen what was in his heart.

"I'll try," he croaked.

He would try. For the both of them.

Without another word, Roy left the room.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

When Roy re-entered the antechamber for the cell, Durante just behind him, everyone except Gemima Chi had already gone to the court meeting. It hadn't seemed so difficult before, but now, the prospect sniped him.

He had to convince the court to show mercy to Alisa. After quickly changing into a freshly-pressed suit, Roy trudged behind Gemima's lead, trying to think of some good arguments. Madam Tremaine was going to destroy him in debate. The newly-hired trade advisor Vace Vella would laugh at his idea of a 'deal'. And there was no telling how Ramsbottom was going to react now, not with people who supported him by his side.

The conference room rustled with whispers as he stepped inside. Every chair, but two, were filled. Advisor Edamus Strativalli had turned in his seat and stared at Roy so strongly that Roy thought his own face might melt off. Advisor Mauritia Militide gritted her teeth, biting with fury, and her nails clattered against the wood of the table in a rhythmic drumbeat. Next to her, Eleanor Cahill only shook her head and remained still. By the walls stood Delacroix, Durante, and another handful of guards. Acketeer was there as well – she must have returned with Skye in time to see this.

And then there was Prince Alex, tremoring with white fury next to the chair that was once Barney's.

His pupils were specks amongst the raging blues of his irises. His fists were clenched, with his nails digging into his palm. Roy couldn't help but notice that the situation had crushed him so much that even he'd neglected to maintain his tidy appearance: an unbuttoned suit jacket, absent cufflinks, his gelled hair somehow spiking in all the wrong directions.

Someone must have already filled him in. And Alex knew what Barney had done. He knew, with as much clarity as Roy had, that there would be severe consequences for Barney's actions.

 _The crown will soon be Alexander's to command._

But Roy did not want to make him an enemy. And he hoped Alex felt the same.

Alex didn't take his eyes off Roy as he strode to his seat in the calmest manner possible. At least, next to the head, with his parents, he felt some comfort in their presence, but he could feel Alex's leer like a stale breath over his bare neck.

Ji-Yu cleared her throat. "Thank you all for being here on such short notice. We have come to discuss an act of crime against my son's sovereign right as Prince of the current Selection." Her eyes glittered with both disappointment and shame, mingling into one. "The illicit relationship between Selected Alisa Orlov of Whites and Duke Barnabas Windsor of the United Kingdom Commonwealth."

No title for Alisa anymore. It was obvious she wouldn't be a lady after this.

A rumble of vexed whispers broke out amongst the court. As Ramsbottom detailed how he'd come to find them in the secret passageways, picnicking and kissing and laughing together, Roy wanted nothing more than to erase the new images popping into his mind.

Alex, to his credit, said nothing and listened the entire time. Roy watched him as he glued his eyes to Ramsbottom.

The turmoil he was experiencing became more obvious as the tale continued.

If he felt any anger at the end, it had been conquered by the sheer humiliation, as he directed his gaze to the table.

Ramsbottom took a drink of water and cleared his throat.

"So, this wretched scandal begs the question." Ramsbottom turned to Alex. "Are you and your brother conspiring against our future king?"

Gasps broke out. At this, Alex's head whipped up.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Alex barked. "I would never even _consider_ doing such a heinous thing!"

Ramsbottom did not cower under his gaze. "You expect me to believe that this stunt is not an act on your behalf to severe our ties?"

Alex shot up. "Of course I do! The fact that you had the gall to accuse me of such drivel is heinous in itself!" He worked his jaw. "I would never sabotage my relationship with my most trusted ally."

"Your 'relationship' with His Highness, our future king, is one of _concern_ , not _comradery,"_ Ramsbottom spat. "Which is why this seems to be a crime of most convenient timing, given your impending coronation."

Alex snarled darkly. "Your conspiracy theories are baseless. I am not, and will never, attempt to go to war with this country, and nor would I want to."

Ramsbottom didn't wilt at this confession. He addressed the whole table. "Then perhaps we should consider that Prince Barnabas acted alone, with the intention to wedge us apart in this very way." He glanced at Alex. "Did you expect this?"

Alex seethed. " _Of course not—"_

"Then there is proof," Ramsbottom said.

"He would never do such a thing," Alex crowed.

Ramsbottom grunted. "He has only nurtured your hostility over the course of this month-long stay."

Alex clenched his fists.

"Listen to me." His tone demanded attention. "Barnabas is a _fool_. For loving that girl. For thinking he could do so without consequence. For even considering it in the first place." He reeled in a shallow breath. "But he is still honourable. He is still the person I would go to when I had trouble. He is my twin, my brother in more than just blood. I know him better than anyone else in this room, and he would never, _ever_ think about self-destructing our alliance for anyone, let alone himself."

Quiet followed, palpably thick.

Roy didn't let it last long. He stood up and addressed the table.

"I agree with Alexander."

Alex's eyes widened. It was the first time they'd ever agreed. Even the court seemed to recognise the significance.

Roy inhaled. "Barnabas has proved several times to me that he holds the interests of his people, his friends and his family higher than his own. He loves a girl he cannot have as the prince of a kingdom he cannot rule. This much is true, yes, but he is not resentful or bitter of his position. Nor does he seek to ignite war between us." He warily met Alex's eyes. "We've had our disparities in the past, but on this, we can agree; Barnabas is not our enemy, and he never will be."

The speech had ruptured the tenseness in the room.

Ramsbottom scrambled for recovery. "Is this what he said to you? When you interrogated him?"

"He told me—" Roy's tongue faltered. Just for a moment. "He told me he was completely horrified anyone could accuse him and Alexander of wrecking our relations." Pause. "I understand your concern for our government, Sir Ramsbottom, but this is, quite simply, an overreaction."

Mumbles. Roy couldn't tell if they were for or against him.

"How do you suggest we proceed, then, Your Highness?" asked Eleanor. "If he isn't trying to begin a war between us, how can we appropriately punish him without retaliation from the UKC?"

"Your UKC official is standing in front of you," Alex said. His voice was husky. "And there will be no retaliation."

Relief wrapped Roy like a bow.

Alex steamrolled on. "Barnabas has no diplomatic immunity granting him protection from international law." He looked at no one as he spoke. "He broke rules, severely, and he must face the actions of those consequences. It would not be right to use my judicial power to protect him from the corporal proceedings. Not when it weakens the authority of your government."

So this was it. This was time for Roy to fight.

Alex clasped his hands together behind his back. His princely side had returned after a long fight with his emotions, but his brittle voice proved it was all a cleverly woven façade. "As is custom in Illéa, Barnabas and Alisa Orlov must face a public caning of fifteen strokes each."

Roy swallowed.

 _Now or never_.

"Wait." Not the _best_ way to open a debate, but Roy hadn't prepared for this whatsoever. "Barnabas may not have any immunity, but he is still a member of this court. He has requested that he take all of Alisa's physical punishment, and that she have none."

Voices burst from the table. People hollered their disagreement immediately.

Ramsbottom sputtered, "But the girl! She's as much a perpetrator as he is!"

"Her caste will be stripped, and she will be banished. That will be enough."

"Why should we?" argued Mauritia over the cacophony. "Why should we bend the rules for him?"

"He wants it to prove his dedication to our law."

Vace scoffed. "If he was _that_ dedicated, he wouldn't have committed the act in the first place!"

A chorus of agreement.

Roy clutched his hands to stop them shaking.

 _One wrong word, and Alisa will suffer. I cannot make a mistake_.

"We should be grateful he's agreeing to punishment _at all,_ and not that he wants to incite any war between our countries." Roy kept his breathing even. "He isn't throwing his title around, hoping that it'll let him escape this scot-free. He isn't demanding his phone call from back home so that his lawyers will descend upon us with some loophole in our judicial system. He's using this opportunity to show us how remorseful he is for making a bad decision in the heat of the moment, and given that he's asking for _more_ strokes than what we're giving him, I think it's a fair bargain. At the end of the day, it's still thirty strokes." He swallowed. "I doubt he will be so remorseful if we were to punish Alisa, as well."

More tossing of arguments from around the table. Fingers pointed. Accusations were slung.

Then King Merrick rose. "Silence, please."

The table was instantly silent. Roy, Alex and Ramsbottom sat down.

"We take it to vote." His face was unreadable. "All those in favour of Prince Barnabas undertaking two counts of strokes, totalling thirty, and Alisa Orlov being stripped of her caste, raise your hand. If not, place your hand clearly on the table _."_

Roy's heart leapt into his throat. _Please. Please. Don't hurt Alisa._

One hand raised. His own.

Then another, and another.

Soon, almost half of the table raised their hands. Ji-Yu, Merrick, Eleanor and Gemima had agreed with his motion, thankfully, but Roy needed a majority, or Alisa would suffer. The few that didn't included Ramsbottom.

 _One more vote needed._

His eyes slid to Alex.

He had neither raised his hand nor placed it on the table, showing his indecision. Heads swivelled to face him. He was the deciding vote.

Roy bit down on his tongue. He'd said his piece. There was nothing more he could do. Only Alex now could see it for what it was.

 _Don't hurt Alisa._

Alex was unreadable at first, but when his gaze collided with Roy's, he tensed. Silent words passed between them. Roy wished he was telepathic just so he could repeat the words: _Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her._

After an agonising second, Alex spoke. His chest quivered.

"If he wants _more_ punishment, so be it."

He raised his hand.

Gemima's head bobbed with each hand she counted. "The vote approves the motion. Prince Barnabas shall receive double the count of strokes, at thirty. Alisa Orlov will be stripped of her caste and banished."

The sheer relief that swept through Roy was enough to pacify an angry buffalo. He sagged in his chair as the conversations broke out again. People starting speaking to him, but he didn't say anything, too pleased with the outcome to talk.

Ji-Yu stood up. "Very well. Then the caning will be occur tomorrow." Her eyes snagged on Delacroix. "Please set up the platform for the event." To Eleanor. "Have someone contact Clarity and Rainerd Snaps from _the Illéan Times,_ and the necessary cameras crews."

Then, with a wave of her hand, she said, "Dismissed."

As people filed out, Ji-Yu petted Roy's shoulder. "That was a good debate, son."

"Yes," Merrick whispered. "You made some very wise word choices."

"Thanks," Roy said. The victory felt like nothing to celebrate, though.

He followed his parents out of the room, only for a hand to catch his arm.

Alex.

He leant against the wall. The dying sun glittered against his clothes. But he looked more like death wrapped in orange glow and warm sunlight.

"You think I'm _happy_ to put my brother in more pain?"

Roy snatched his arm back. "It was what he wanted."

" _What he wanted?"_ Alex echoed in disgust. "Why didn't you just order everyone to keep quiet?"

"I can't keep my entire court quiet," Roy hissed. "You think I can stop them all from talking? It's unethical."

" _Caning_ is unethical! You ever think about that?"

Roy blanched.

No. He'd… never thought about it.

Caning had been reintroduced into the crime and punishment system when Diantha Schreave won the Selection. He'd grown up hearing of traitors being subjected to the pain – but it was just something to accept, something that was both horrible and just. Once before, he knew, the punishment for treason was execution, but Diantha Schreave apparently had more mercy than that.

Alas, it was part of their law, and he couldn't say no, but… now he thought back to all those canings he'd had to watch on television. It _was_ barbaric.

"It's our law," Roy said evenly. "It's despicable, but it's our law, and it's too late to change it now. You know that. Barney wanted this."

"I'm not stupid," Alex spat. "I know he's not doing this to prove his loyalty. He's doing it because he's in love with _her_ , and doesn't want her harmed."

It _was_ pretty obvious, but Roy wasn't in the mood to point it out.

Alex suddenly sank against the wall. All that anger, that rage and agony… gone, in a flash.

"That bloody _idiot_ …" His eyes were like liquid fire. "Does he really love that common girl?"

Roy thought back to Barney holding her hand like it might slip away from him at any minute.

"Her name is Alisa, and… yes. He does."

Alex didn't speak for a long time.

Roy wondered what he thought of Alisa. They'd never interacted in front of him beyond that first meeting together, but… it was clear he didn't have a high opinion of her.

"Fine," Alex snorted eventually. "He deserves it for such asinine behaviour."

It was cold. Ruthless.

Roy had expected no less.

"But," Alex continued, looking Roy straight in the eye. "You do one thing for me."

"I don't owe you anything."

"You owe me for not throwing a fit at this disgusting, archaic practice you still call _retribution_."

Roy felt his insides squeeze together. "What do you want?"

Alex sighed. Again, his careful façade was slipping away like broken puzzle pieces.

"Don't keep them in your god-forsaken cells tonight. Let them stay in their respective rooms. Let Barnabas have something nice before he's tortured tomorrow."

 _Them_. Barney _and_ Alisa.

So he _did_ care.

Roy feigned some nonchalance. "So, what? You can smuggle him away before tomorrow?"

"So I can give that fool a piece of my damn mind."

It was an easy request. He doubted anyone would have a problem with it. Barney had already agreed to the punishment, and he wouldn't dare risk Alisa being done for worse if he tried to avoid it.

"Okay," Roy said. "It's yours."

"Good."

Alex walked away.

So, Roy, keeping his distance, stared out of the window for a few moments. Wondering what sort of tension the sun would bring with it when it rose tomorrow.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Barney's public trail was to take place outside, in front of a crowd of strangers.

Security was tight around a large platform, erected just inside their entrance gates, and three tiers of seats around it in a semi-circle. It was bitingly cold, the wind was sharp, and the gathered crowd outside of the gates were mostly dressed in thick coats and woolly jumpers. Cameras and camera tracks weaved around the stage for the best angles, sleek and black and matching of the tone.

That this was serious.

Roy and his family sat in the only sheltered box seat constructed for their viewing. It was on the highest tier, directly in front of the post where the victim was tied. The entire court had assembled to watch, as well as the Selected and other notable judicial members. The only important absence was Gail, whom Merrick had deemed too young to watch.

Good. Roy wouldn't wish this on anyone, let alone Gail.

He searched the seated crowd for one face: Alisa. It wasn't hard to spot her, because she was away from the Selected, swarmed by guards. Dressed entirely in black, she blotched her red face with tissue after tissue.

She may have escaped the caning, but she was also still a criminal. The ceremony would name and shame her.

He could only guess that Alisa didn't care; only that her love was taking a bullet for her.

The other Selected were just as sombre. Their muted coats and muted conversations were indication enough. Cameras swept over them curiously, perhaps catching their sorrows. They tossed their surprised glances Alisa's way. This was a reminder about how grave the accusation of treason was.

It could've been any one of them on that post today. Alisa had narrowly avoided it. The stripping of her caste was merciful in comparison.

"When will this thing start?" Roy asked restlessly. His breath puffed out in the air in front of him. "I just want it to be over with."

Next to him, Ji-Yu frowned. Her _hanbok_ was a dark grey, though she wore extra layers with it. "I understand, and soon. They're retrieving Barnabas from his room now."

Alex wasn't here yet either.

Before long, Romilda Van der Voort ascended onto the platform. Her long-sleeved dress glimmered and shone, but it was still as dark as a night sky. A microphone was attached to her lapel. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands together in front of her, and the cameras panned in her direction.

They were live.

"Good morning, Illéa," she said, as smooth as a pebble eroded by the sea. "It is with heavy heart that we announce, today, that Alisa Rose Orlov of Whites, and Duke Barnabas Windsor of Cambridge, Prince of the United Kingdom Commonwealth, has committed treason against our sovereign by engaging in an illicit relationship."

The crowd beyond the gates booed wildly, whereas in front of the gate, they only remained silent. Roy, as guilty as the thought made him feel, was just glad he'd turned down the opportunity to make this speech himself.

But something distracted him. Where the heck was Alex?

"As stated in the rules of the Selection, romantic and/ or sexual relationships between anyone sans His Royal Highness, Prince Roy Schreave of Illéa, are strictly forbidden. It has been agreed upon by our and UKC officials that, in retribution for such crimes, Alisa Orlov will be stripped of her caste, and banished as an Eight."

She let the crowd sink it in. It was almost cruel. Beyond the gates, they roared for blood, for justice to be served, but to everyone here who knew Alisa well, it was only a sad occasion. Roy wished he could melt into his chair for the roll of tension that radiated from his Selected.

"Prince Barnabas, however, will be caned thirty strokes on his back."

A mixed reaction. Jeers, yells, and shocked gasps formed a body of relentless noise. The negative reactions outweighed the conflicted, and boos chanted from the crowd soon, too.

Romilda swallowed. "Please make way for His Royal Highness, Prince of the United Kingdom Commonwealth, Duke Barnabas Windsor of Cambridge."

The guards didn't drag him as they escorted him to the platform. Roy watched the little body, pale and shivering. His upper half was bare, boasting his muscular abs. Hands were bound in front of him. His chestnut hair looked like it had grown, dragging over his eyes. He walked with a semblance of pride – squared shoulders, puffed chest – but his head was down for the entire ordeal.

The public screamed. _Traitor_ , they yelled. _Scum. Treasonous snob._

But if Barney heard them, he didn't show it. He moved with grace and poise, allowing himself to be tied to the post with no complaints.

Roy took the moment to look around. _Still_ no Alex.

"Where the heck's Alex?" he whispered.

Ji-Yu searched, but didn't spot him either. "I… don't know. I suppose he doesn't want to see this."

Merrick's hands clenched on his lap. "I don't blame him."

"Do you have anything you wish to say?" Romilda prompted.

Barney said nothing.

A masked man, entirely in black, ascended the platform, clutching a cane taller than Gail. He tested it for a few swings before pausing. Angling it at Barney's back.

Roy sat back. He could hardly believe Alex was going to miss this. Wouldn't it be a sign that he approved? A sign of solidarity that he, too, wouldn't tolerate insubordination of his people on any shore?

It almost seemed cowardly.

The masked man raised the cane. And struck.

It tore through Barney's back flesh, and blood wept down the wound. Barney made no noise. The masked man didn't give Barney any time to adjust, as he flashed the cane down the second time.

And then he cried out.

But Roy's heart stopped at the noise. Both his parents had frozen, just the same.

That was not Barney's voice.

"Oh my god," Roy said. "That's _Alex."_

The cane came down again, and Alex screamed once more. The crowd drank it in, their thirst infinite.

Roy saw Alisa – she had tensed up, too. The voice between her lover and her lover's twin were worlds apart to her, it seemed.

Merrick trembled, but his eyes were glued to caning. "I can't believe— he would take his brother's place?"

"What do we do?" Ji-Yu said to them both. "We can't… we can't let this go on…?"

"Where the hell is Barney then?" Roy muttered.

Anger filled every crevice of Roy. It didn't matter. If anyone discovered the swap, it would become it's _own_ act of treason.

He stood to his feet. "I'll sort this."

He slipped away from the caning quietly, avoiding the cameras that panned to him with his movements. An emotion he couldn't place stirred within him. Alex had taken Barney's place – an act of bravery and unity Roy had never seen, never suspected Alex was capable of.

But it still didn't make sense.

 _Why would he take his brother's place?_

It wasn't like Alisa had run away with him, too. She was watching Alex take the brunt, surrounded in all corners by guards. Alex himself had said that Barney deserved what he got.

Maybe he was doing this because he genuinely cared.

Roy found that hard to believe.

He marched down the corridors, heading for Alex and Barney's private quarters. He heard the patter behind him, suggesting both Durante and Acketeer were on his heels, but aside from them, the palace was a ghost house.

Their parlour door was wide open, something he found strange.

Inside was chaos.

The plush velvet curtains were yanked apart. The sofas were overturned, and the glass coffee table had been smashed. The door to Barnabas' bedroom was wide open, too. Had Alex _fought_ him to stay put?

Roy approached it slowly. The windows were wide open, and morning sunlight streamed inside. But the room was as upheaved as their shared parlour. The bed sheets were wrung together to form a thick rope – with one end tied to the bedpost – lamps were shattered, and a bookcase had collapsed, showering the carpet in books.

But no Barney.

Had he possibly escaped? They were on the second floor, so it was doable.

Sighing, Roy scowled. "God, I hate the Twinces…"

A little note was held on the dresser with a bottle of Barney's cologne. Roy plucked it up. Sentences had been strung together using lettering from _the Illéan Times_.

 _Good morning, Prince Roy,_ began the note. _This is Newton's Wife._

And suddenly, all the blood in Roy's veins clotted.

 _I, on behalf of Walter Wolanski and the Southern Rebels, have taken Prince Alexander hostage. In exchange for his good health and wellbeing, we wish to make a trade. For you._

Flesh and muscle within Roy began to decay. His heart imploded in on itself. His bones rotted to ash.

 _You have twenty-four hours to appear at the location below._

Roy didn't need to read the rest of the note to know Barney's fate. But the words seemed to read themselves.

 _And if you do not, then Prince Alexander… will die._

* * *

 **A/N:** And so it snowballs... Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I had to rewrite this at least five times, because I couldn't decide on the dialogue, lol, and then one time I made two versions and accidentally deleted the new one so jokes on me, but I'm glad to have this one out of the way now **.  
**

Poll is now closed! But I have a new question... so, Hikaru Leach and I were discussing AUs and now I wanna know, what Hogwarts house do you think the Selected girls would be in? Give me your thoughts for anyone you like, submitter or not! It _maaaaaay_ end up being useful later on...

Thanks for reading! Reviews, favourites and follows loved as much as I love dogs (THEY'RE SO FLOOFY).

~ GWA

NTT: "She took selfies with the unconscious guards?"


	40. Picture Imperfect

Rereading the note had felt like Roy was being punched in his stomach. Again and again. Yet he couldn't stop, choosing to relive each syllable, each word. It had tethered him, forcing him to subject himself to the fresh wave of terror each time he passed over the sentences.

 _The Southern Rebels have Barney._

Even as he paced outside Alex and Barney's parlour room, waiting for Merrick and Ji-Yu and a security team to have their own inspection, the evil words continued to unfurl. The note was safely away from his hands, but he'd already memorised the words by the time Durante had returned with his parents.

After an agonising amount of time, Ji-Yu stepped out of the parlour. Her face was grave. For once, she'd taken her hair out of a neat bun, and it flowed down her in brittle strands. It only added to her dishevelled expression.

"I can't believe this." Her voice cracked. "How are we going to tell Pippa and George? How are we going to tell Alexander?"

Roy had no reply. His chest twisted seeing his mother so put out.

Merrick finished his conversation with a man in a hazmat suit and shut the parlour door behind him. It seemed he'd developed a thousand more wrinkles since before the caning, and he'd clearly been raking his greying hair.

"They're going to swab the place. Hopefully our assailants were careless. We'll have to scour the surveillance tapes, as well." The note was in his hands, but it crunched in his balling fist. " _Damn rebels."_

 _Twenty-four hours._ That was the timeframe.

It wasn't much to work with.

"It's me they want, Mother, Dad," Roy said, though the thought made him want to run for his bedroom and lock the door. "Maybe I should—"

"You'll do no such damn thing, Jun," Ji-Yu barked, just at the same time that Merrick said, "Absolutely not."

It wasn't even open for discussion.

Roy didn't want to do it. He didn't want to risk his life, and what could be his very last day at the palace, but it was either him, or an innocent party. Barney wasn't even from this country, let alone knew anything about the rising presence of the Southern Rebels.

But of course. He was just bait. Roy was their true target.

And it made him want to puke.

"We only have a _day_ to find him. _A day."_ As if they needed a reminder. "We don't have time to send out search parties or comb through video tapes of Los Angeles." She stabbed a finger towards the crumpled note. "They'll kill him if they even _suspect_ we're working around their rules."

"And you think they'd spare _you?"_ Ji-Yu said.

His hesitation made her scowl.

"Exactly. We can find a way that _neither_ of you will be put in danger. That," she said, with finality, "is something your father and I will do. We _will._ "

Roy didn't like the way she'd had to repeat that.

He wracked his brain. What could he do now? If Barney was captured, and Merrick and Ji-Yu were going to investigate the security barracks…

A question popped into his mind. _Alex was the last person to see Barney… what does he know?_

He was about to speak his thoughts when a maid scurried towards them. Her bow was frantic.

"Excuse me, Your Majesties, Your Highness," she said. "The Prince Barnabas' caning has finished. He is being treated in the East Wing infirmary."

"Thank you," Merrick said, with a dismissive wave.

She scuttled away, and Roy reclaimed his parents' attention. "I have to go to Alex and find out what he knows."

Merrick and Ji-Yu exchanged a worried glance.

Ji-Yu said, "Yes, that will be best, but…"she swallowed, "he will not react kindly."

Roy couldn't imagine how his cousin would take the news. Had it been Gail, Roy would have exploded with anger and agony, and Alex would probably be the same.

"Make sure you reassure him that we will do everything in our power to retrieve Barney," Merrick said. His nod was sturdy, but his creased face suggested he was less than sure of anything. "When you find out what he knows, come meet us in the barracks."

He made to leave, but Ji-Yu touched his arms.

"I just—" she inhaled, "I just need a word with Roy. I'll be there in a minute."

Merrick twisted his lips, but left all the same. Roy watched him leave, suddenly scared what he might find. Would the CCTV reveal all the answers to their questions, or just create new ones?

Ji-Yu glanced around her, before taking Roy's arm closer to the window, away from the eyes of the patrolling guards and the security team conducting their tests.

" _Jun,"_ she said, in Korean, " _I hope we're on the same line of thought as to who could have facilitated this kidnapping."_

The thought occurred to him in that instant.

 _The spy._

It would've been so easy. All they'd need to do was _not_ show up to the caning, and help the rebels inside and out to execute the kidnapping. Roy hadn't even thought to count his Selected at today's event – he'd assumed they'd all been there – and his focus was so distracted by Alisa and the event itself that he'd hardly acknowledged them at all.

Ji-Yu made a face that mirrored his. " _Do you think_ she _could have been involved?"_

" _I think it's a high possibility_ ," Roy said, trying to keep his voice even. " _When would she have had the chance to help kidnap Barney though? Surely someone would have noticed her coming down here?"_

" _I want to hope so."_ Ji-Yu said. " _Perhaps it would be an idea to ask around if anyone noticed anything suspicious. Wait staff. Guards."_

Roy chewed his lip. " _I can have Rudy or Durante on that."_

" _Yes. Do that,"_ Ji-Yu said. " _Though only if we don't glean a lead from the CCTV."_

He made a mental note to do so and tucked it into the basket in his mind for later. Then, in English, he said, "I'd better go tell Alex. I'll find you when I have information."

She nodded. "I'll see you soon."

Roy slunk through the smaller hallways, hoping to avoid the crowd returning inside from the caning, for the infirmary.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The infirmary was cool and pristine, as it usually was, but Roy couldn't help but sense it was hiding a darkness he couldn't see. Perhaps that was the turmoil that stormed inside him, building pressure and intensity, at the thought of having to drop this news on his injured cousin.

He had no idea how or why they'd swapped. Only that they had.

Finding out about Alisa and Barney's relationship felt like a million years ago now. Roy swept passed the injured guards or sick maids, the curtains drawn across the wards, and the din of shuffles and coughing a heavy pall. He turned a corner into a private hallway. Alex's room was at the very back, isolated from the others, which was probably a good thing, so if Alex wanting to yell and scream, he could without alarming the other patients.

Roy came to the door and hovered his knuckle over the wood.

 _How do I even say this?_

He didn't have time to write a speech when his parents were counting on information, so without another second to waste, Roy knocked.

"Come in," groused Alex's voice.

Roy stepped inside. The room was small, with a long window overlooking the outcropping of side buildings to the east of the main palace. Sterile white furniture dotted the room, matching the pristine curtains – the only colourful thing was a vase of flowers on the bedside table, filled with an array of purple hyacinth and orange lilies. Light pattered onto Alex's bare chest.

The parts not covered in bandages, at least.

Gauze had been wrapped around him like he was half mummified. The thirty strokes must have cost him hard, as he lay on his back, with his head facing towards the door. His eyebrows were knitted together in constant pain. Sweat matted his brow – which looked strange now that his hair wasn't gelled to reveal it – and even his demeanour screamed fragility.

His face lifted ever so slightly into a smirk, though, when Roy shut the door behind him.

"I don't regret it."

Roy drew in a long, hard breath. That smugness… for once, Roy didn't react emotionally with hostility. It just _hurt_.

"You want to know why I did it?" Alex said, clearly mistaking the silence for anger at the swap. "I may not show it, but I care about that idiot, and I wasn't about to let him get hurt over a stupid girl." He sighed, and even that seemed to pain him. "It better have been worth it."

Doing something nice didn't seem to be part of Alex's repertoire. "So you did a Parent Trap just so he could avoid being hurt?" Roy croaked out.

"He owes me," he said. "Oh, _boy_ , does he owe me." Then, a laugh. "We argued about it this morning, but I punched him hard enough so that he blacked out. Then I tied him up using his bedsheets and left pretending to be him. We look so alike that no one suspected a thing."

Roy trembled at the words. _He'd practically given the rebels his brother._

"Where is he, anyway?" Alex cut the thought in half. "If he's really into Alisa, he'd better be offering her a goddamn moon by now."

Alex had to know, no matter how badly this would turn out.

"Alex." Roy's heart blundered within him. "The rebels broke into the palace during the caning."

Instantly, Alex's face blanched. That smugness dropped away.

" _What?"_

"They… took him. Barney," Roy said. His voice cracked. "I'm sorry."

Alex didn't seem to believe him first. His eyes darted between him and the floor. Then his upper lip rose in disgust.

"Very funny, Fitz."

"I'm not joking," Roy said.

" _Where is my brother?"_ Alex yelled.

"He's been _kidnapped_ ," Roy snapped back – then, reining his voice back in, he said, "I'm so sorry."

Finally, it seemed to sink in. Finally, did Alex seem to recognise Roy's dread, Roy's horror, and his expression slowly morphed to match.

"No. No. Please, tell me, that's not possible." His voice jumped an octave. "You're just joking with me."

Roy didn't know what else to say to make him see.

But the gears were turning, and fat tears welled in Alex's eyelids. He made to sit up, but only crumpled in pain and fell against the bed once more. "No. I didn't take his goddamn punishment so he wouldn't feel any guilt to be with the woman he loves just for some _bastards_ to kidnap him. I…" Tears dribbled down his cheeks. "I _helped_ them. Inadvertently. God, please. _Please._ This _can't_ be real." He blew in a breath that came out like a sob. "You can't even use the tracking chip to find him because he never had one implanted. And it's my fault."

Roy wished Alex had been more firm with him now. That he'd ordered the chip implant on his brother. It might have caused a short-term resentment, but it would have saved them from this.

"I-I'm sorry," Roy said, but truthfully, no matter how many times he said it, his words meant nothing.

"Are they going to kill him?" Alex asked in a scared tone. "Or is he already dead?"

"They're demanding a trade."

"Then give them what they want!"

Roy gulped. "They… want me."

" _You—?"_ His voice broke. "God, no. _No. Bastards."_

"We're going to get him back," Roy said. "We _will_ get him back."

He expected Alex to shout and yell. To let the situation incense him. But tears continued to fall, and Alex squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please. Please get him back. Unharmed." He opened his eyes again and they zeroed in on Roy. "Please, Roy. _Please._ Do whatever it takes. Just— don't trade your life for his, but _please_. Please just get him home."

Roy never thought he could feel pity for his horrid cousin, but now it swamped over him, dulling his senses like a suffocating thick rug. He wished there was something he could say, some immediate action he could take, that would shoulder the emotional burden he'd just thrown onto Alex's bare body.

But it was too late now. So Roy could only agree to Alex's demands with a quiet mutter, and escaped, leaving Alex to cry quietly in his room.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Neither Merrick nor Ji-Yu was pleased about Alex's stunt when Roy told them about it in the control centre in the guards' barracks, though they didn't react as volcanically as he'd expected. He'd wondered why at first, but then they revealed that kidnapping Barney wasn't the only problem that needed addressing.

The CCTV tapes had been tampered.

"I just don't understand it," Delacroix had said, rapidly typing on the panels of keys that controlled the numerous cameras. "We had some of the guard remain in the palace during the caning, so how could a rebel get far enough into our security facilities without being stopped?"

"And no one saw anything?" Merrick had pressed.

"Nothing. The stationed guards were knocked out with Rohypnol."

 _This must have been an inside job,_ Roy had thought miserably. _For someone like a spy._

Delacroix had tried to reason with them. "I can scour what's been left, but I doubt the rebels were careless when removing their tracks."

Roy stayed for ten minutes, watching as experts combed through their tapes and backup tapes and the backup of the backup tapes.

The rebels were not careless.

As the council deliberated in another emergency meeting, without Roy, he waited in his own parlour rooms. The doors were wide open, with Durante and Acketeer standing guard, and with Rudy keeping him company until a decision was made. His parents had exempted him from discussion since he was already so involved his opinion might have led to bias.

Roy paced, frustrated at his uselessness. The blue and gold carpets would probably wear out beneath him, but the movement kept his mind whirring, his thoughts churning out ideas.

Rudy had already made himself comfortable in the dark blue sofas. "There's no point wasting your energy until they've reached a decision."

Sunlight tickled Roy's skin as he walked, and he almost begrudged it, blessing them with a nice day when it was anything but.

"How else can they get him back?" Roy asked. His ideas always came back to going to the attached address on that note. "Walter's followers don't value their lives; they're willing to die. And even if we managed to capture someone for interrogation, they won't know anything, because the superiors don't share plans with the lower ranks. They'll kill Barney, even if it kills all of them, too. It's like when Satan the maid came for me."

Rudy kept his hands clasped together. "I'm not sure what the court will decide, but I have faith they'll find something."

If it all boiled down to bending to their demands, was Roy willing to do it?

He'd thought about what he was willing to die for. His family and friends were always at the top of that list.

Barney, along with Alex, had antagonised him for his whole life. He'd forced him into a stupid contract, humiliated him during meetings, scorned him at every opportunity. Years and years of torture. Now, he'd even gone and committed treason against him.

On paper, he should just let him die.

The very thought made him sick. They weren't _best buddies forever_. They weren't even acquaintances. Their entire relationship was hanging by a thread that only endured because they had a duty to their countries. But he was still an innocent party embroiled in a war he wasn't ever involved in. This was Roy's fight, and now they'd dragged Barney in, too.

Plus there was Alisa. She'd never forgive Roy if he let Barney die.

She knew that Alex had taken the beating, but she didn't know about the kidnapping. None of the Selected knew.

What would they think, if Roy exchanged his life for Barney's? The prince they came to court, dead before they could even begin to form a true bond.

His thoughts were chopped in half when, suddenly, Acketeer and Durante drew their weapons. They pointed them out into the corridor at an unknown assailant.

"Please step back," Durante said, with lethal calm. "The prince is not seeing anyone right now."

A little squeal alerted him to Skye Davenport.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I'll go. I just wanted to see if His Highness was all right. Please don't shoot me."

Roy stuck his head out of the door. Indeed, her beaded eyes were pinned to the guns in his guards' hands.

Roy sighed. "No, it's okay. She can come inside."

The two guards holstered their guns and returned to standing motionless by the door. Rudy stood up in Skye's presence. She scuttled past them all – her gaze lingered on Acketeer – before coming into the room.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. "What's with the guards?"

"Er," Roy fumbled for words, "it's a drill. Training measures and all."

"Oh," she said. If she caught the tension seething from his body, she didn't show it, and smiled sympathetically. "Well, I just wanted to offer my condolences, about… erm… you know. Alisa and your cousin."

That seemed to pale in comparison to the current situation, but Roy managed an effable smile anyway. "Thanks. I'm… handling it as well as I can."

"I'm sorry it had to ruin our date, as well." She shied, her feet tracing circles on the floor. "I… was really enjoying myself."

They had been so very close to kissing. Roy couldn't imagine how differently this conversation would be if they hadn't been interrupted.

"Same," he said, and he meant it. "It's a shame they ruined it, but…"

Her resignation didn't wither. Instead, she fiddled with her hands. Odd, for Skye, since she always seemed so bold.

"I know you're going through this whole cheating scandal with Prince Barney and this fiasco with the rebels."

He froze.

She inclined her head to one side. "Well, I'm glad Prince Barney was caught and that the rebels haven't attacked since the fashion show, but… it got me a little more worked up, I guess. And thinking about it how anything might be suspicious."

Ah, so she meant it in a general sense. Didn't know about Barney's kidnapping. Relief flooded through Roy, even though it got his heart racing.

"Yes, I think we can all echo that," Roy said, side-glancing at Rudy.

Skye took a deep breath, and guilt seemed to consume her in that moment. Her words poured out in a rush. "Look, I don't want to throw anyone under a bus, okay? But I was late to the caning because I had a hair emergency, and I saw… well…" she trailed off.

Roy's heart stumbled another beat. "You saw _what?"_

"I saw Persephone Cahill going the other direction today. I saw her go down staircases the opposite way, when the rest of us were heading for the front entrance for the caning."

Something constricted Roy's throat. Delacroix's words rammed into the forefront of his mind.

 _How could a rebel get far enough into our security facilities without being stopped by other guards?_

Only someone with connections could have made it that far into the palace. Someone who was trusted. Persephone was a top pick – her position as shadowing advisor might as well have given her the keys to the palace. She could have easily slipped down to the lowest floors, in the guards' barracks beneath the palace.

Skye shrugged, derailing Roy's thoughts. "I don't know. I thought it was a little weird. She even had a camera on her."

 _Why the heck would see need a camera?_

"Was she at the caning at all?"

Skye winced and stared at the ground again. "I don't know. I didn't look out for her. Cameras were on me – didn't want to look like I wasn't taking it seriously, you know?"

If she wasn't at the caning, and she was seen going downstairs…

Dread flooded into Roy's lungs. Drowning him. Could it be…?

In his stupor, Rudy stepped forwards. "Is there anything in particular you think this information might suggest?"

Because, of course, it could mean nothing.

But it could also mean everything.

Skye just shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know… I just… I thought it was weird." Her face creased with guilt again. "I nearly called out to her, but the way she walked… it was like she didn't want to be seen."

Roy tried to mentally picture the Board – and he was nearly sure, aside from her photograph, she wasn't on it at all. Persephone had never been pinged as suspicious, never drawn his attention to her.

And Skye _herself_ was on the Board. What if this was a ruse meant to direct attention away from _her?_

It couldn't be. A spy wouldn't be so obvious. And since their date… Roy had come to suspect her less, as he'd come to desire her kiss more.

But that couldn't hide the potential for jealousy _._ Perhaps this was some manic ploy to eliminate Persephone? Skye was the one who talked about the inherent distrust the girls would feel for one another, after all. Maybe she was jealous that Persephone was intertwined more deeply with life here, given her previous connection with Roy?

He didn't recall them ever being enemies.

Then again, he didn't recall them ever being friends.

Roy managed to fix a smile on his face. "I see. I'm sure Persephone was… just… looking for the restrooms."

Skye raised an eyebrow, and blessed him with that smug grin. "Yeah, I can see why. Your house is a maze." Her face fell. "Sorry. I know this is weird information, and you probably don't need to hear it right now, but after the thing with Prince Barney … _especially_ after the thing with Prince Barney…" she shrugged, "I thought you should know."

It occurred to Roy that perhaps he could check the CCTV footage of Persephone's adventures, but as soon as the thought had come, it dashed away. _No, because if Persephone really did help the kidnapping,_ he thought, _she_ _would have deleted all the evidence._

It was hard picturing Persephone working against him – working against _her own mother_ – for the Southern Rebels. It made Roy feel like someone had slowly torn through his heart and soul, cutting deeper than any physical wound.

Rudy cleared his throat and gestured towards the door. "Thank you, Lady Skye. I think… His Highness will need some rest."

She pressed her lips together in a sympathetic smile. "No problem. I hope it means nothing. I'm sure it was nothing, but…" Her face darkened. "I just… I can't bear that all these people are trying to cheat you, Roy. Rogue princes _or_ rebels."

"Thank you, Skye," Roy said. "You may go now. Please apologise to the other girls for me for my, er, absence."

"They understand," she said, dipping into a brief curtsy. "Take as long as you like."

He could not take as long as he liked. He had twenty-four hours. Now whittled to twenty-one.

At least, Roy thought, as he watched her go, she had cheered him up. Just slightly. He could always count on Skye to be a bright, bold light in times of darkness.

And now she had come to him with a new lead. Something he could work with.

Rudy came up to Roy. His narrowed eyes lingered on Acketeer as he simply said, "You seem tired, _board-_ ering fatigued, Your Highness. I think you should rest."

Yes. It was time to consult the Board once more.

Roy made a show of yawning loudly as they crossed to his bedroom. The door shut with a satisfying click, though Roy wished he could keep Durante inside, at least, to help with the effort. Rudy yanked the Board free from underneath Roy's bed and stood it against his vanity.

They both stared at Persephone's spotless record.

"Do you really think she did it?" Rudy kept his voice low.

"I… don't know," Roy admitted. "You know her better than I do. What do you think?"

Rudy's whole frame grew taut. "I wouldn't have pegged her as a suspect, no. We're friendly, but," he hesitated, "I suppose spies are well equipped to fool people."

It sickened Roy, to think that friendships like theirs could all be a clever shroud.

Rudy continued. "If it's true, it would mean she was possibly intertwined with the rebels long possibly before the Selection. Maybe before she became a shadowing advisor." His face was creased with the hurt of a looming betrayal. "Do you think… all this time…?"

"I'm not sure it matters. If she's a rebel spy, she's a rebel spy," Roy said.

Rudy seemed lost to this train of thought. "And her mother… why would she do this to Advisor Cahill? Is she resentful?"

Roy struggled to imagine it, but even before the Selection, he knew Persephone well enough to know she was good at pretending all was well. "I… have no idea, honestly. I always saw Advisor Cahill as a firm but loving person, y'know?" He shook his head. "I guess motive doesn't matter. If Skye saw Persephone slinking along the hallways, we have to find out what she was doing."

Rudy pointed at Skye's name. "But Lady Skylar might be taking advantage of the moment's animosity. She might just want to nudge along a few eliminations. Perhaps even she's the spy, and she's trying to pass blame onto Seph. She is the one you had 'weird vibes' from, after all."

Roy dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah, I considered all that. But I don't think a spy would be so obvious about throwing blame onto someone else. I suspect her less after our date, too. If anything, she's more likely to be jealous."

"I suppose." Rudy chewed his lip. "Accusing her of suspicious behaviour is one way to have them up for elimination."

"Why on earth do you think Persephone had a camera?" Roy asked. "She took selfies with the unconscious guards?"

"She likes photography," Rudy said. "I've seen her with a camera before. It's… a hobby of hers."

"… Do you think she took _fancy_ selfies with the unconscious guards?"

"I once stopped her on the way to snap a photo of the sunset," Rudy reminisced. "And selfies and drugging guards doesn't seem like her style, but… maybe if we can acquire those photos, we might have some answers. At least, we'll need to find out why she was down there, and photos will provide some evidence."

Roy could only hope she'd stopped to snap the sunrise and not the guard barracks' layout.

"There's no guarantee she'll show us every photo she's ever taken. Maybe she has separate memory cards or folders to compartment her double life," Rudy continued. "Especially if said photos enabled the rebels' entrance, but… it'll be a start."

Roy sighed, long and laboured. It was a plan that Persephone could so easily evade – all she'd have to do was _not_ show the right photos, or even delete them – and yet, Roy could not think of anything else.

"Okay," he said eventually. "I guess we might as well make ourselves useful and find her whilst we wait for the council to finish."

"Would you like for me to accompany you?"

Though Roy was reluctant to admit it, Rudy and Persephone had a much closer relationship than Roy and her. They'd known each other for a long time and working together in these hallways, Roy imagined everyone had become a tight-knit family. Now Roy would need to use that relationship to his advantage.

"Yes, please," Roy said. "It might seem less random that I'm taking interest if you're there."

Durante and Acketeer followed behind as Roy and Rudy traipsed to the Selected Wing. It occurred to Roy that lunch was fast approaching, and that Persephone might not be in her room, but his trepidation only heightened when he knocked and she opened the door.

Contrasting her blue eyes, she wore a bright green floral dress that fell to her knees. Her hair, as usual, was worn in a curled up-do, interwoven with daisies.

"Oh, Roy, I was about to go to lunch," she said, rather breathless. Her face drooped with solemnness. "I'm… sorry about Alisa and Barney."

Pity seemed so misplaced now. He didn't want it. He didn't deserve it.

Roy squeezed down his instinct to bury his head in the sand. "Thanks, but that's not why I'm here."

Her voice fell to a trickle. "Is it about the emergency meeting my mom's in right now?"

Persephone wasn't allowed in yesterday's emergency meeting, either. Roy supposed it was because, as a fellow Selected of Alisa's, she was subjected to bias. And it wasn't likely she knew the details about today or else she would have opened with it.

It was strange to think about her – this girl, whom both he and Rudy had trusted, and consider that she might not want him alive. Persephone had always seemed to be open and trustworthy, but at the same time, skilled at burdening many responsibilities.

Being a rebel spy was, no doubt, the toughest responsibility of all.

"No," Roy said. "It's…"

He faltered. Maybe just directly asking her was a bad idea, but with both Durante and Acketeer, and her own door guard clearly able to see the situation, there was no way that, if Persephone was the spy, she'd be able to make any sudden movements.

It all depended on this.

Roy shooed away his hesitation. "Can we see your photos?"

Her eyes flashed with instant caution. "My photos?" Her gaze slid to Rudy. "Why?"

As smooth a melted butter, Rudy smiled. "I was just telling Roy about your love of photography."

Persephone was less impressed with the lie than Roy was. Her shoulders had hunched in a way that Roy thought, maybe, she was too attached to her camera to want to show it to anyone.

Her focus was entirely on Rudy. "Why would you tell him?"

Rudy became so still he might have turned to steel. Still, his lie came forth fully-formed. "We were discussing photography and the Elite." Despite his easy smile, Roy heard him swallow loudly. "Particularly, the themes for the Elite photoshoot. And I just happened to mention that you might be more knowledgeable on what works and what doesn't in photography."

She crossed her arms, shifting her attention to Roy. "You won't tell Mom will you?"

Roy blinked. "Tell your mom what?"

"About my photography." The air around became stale and hard. "She… doesn't know I still keep it up much, especially since I hurt my ankle. I mean, she knows I still _like_ photography, but… not as much as I actually do."

 _Am I missing something?_ he thought. "What's the problem with it? I don't understand."

Persephone fixed him with a hard stare, as if it was obvious. "My mom doesn't really support me when it comes to photography, Roy."

 _Oh._

He could imagine Eleanor Cahill wanting Persephone to focus more on advising. It was what she did, after all.

"I… had no idea. You don't like being a shadowing advisor?"

Persephone looked like she didn't want to have this conversation. "I… I do, but…" She leant against the door. "You know when you just… really _love_ to do something, that you want to do it for the rest of your life?"

Roy searched for the feeling, but he came up empty. "Not really." Why? "I guess… I guess it's because I've had my path laid out for me since the moment I was born."

"Rudy? Do you get it?"

Rudy pondered for a moment before he let out a chuckle. "I used to really enjoy ping pong. Played at a club, but… had to give it up during high school. And now I work here."

Roy blinked. "You play _table-tennis?"_

"Used to," Rudy corrected. "But yes, Seph. There was a time I would've loved to have played it for the rest of my life."

 _Was._ Roy suddenly felt very, very guilt. Had he stamped out Rudy's only hobby?

"You see? It's like that for me and photography," Persephone said, "except… I can't extinguish the flame. It burns, and it will burn. Forever."

She said it with such longing. Such hurt, that she couldn't pursue it.

Trying to veer the conversation on track, Roy took a deep breath. "Okay, well, I wasn't planning to tell your mother regardless, but yes, I can keep it secret."

The tension flew from her body. "Thank you. I appreciate it. You…" her gaze bounced between her room and him, "you still want to see my pictures?"

"If I'm allowed."

She smiled. "I… I don't see why not."

She allowed them entrance into the room. No hesitation. No hostility.

Her bedroom was exactly as Roy expected it to be. Clean, neat. Decorated with family photos and holiday selfies.

Except that it was utterly overrun with multi-coloured eggs.

They had no rhyme or reason. Some eggs were larger than Roy's head, and some were smaller than his palm. Each one was engraved with fancy kitsch designs, or netted in gilded filigree. Swirls. Patterns. Flowers. They sat on Persephone's dresser. The top of her wardrobe shelves. Smattered along her bedside tables and trunks. Crammed on her coffee table.

Roy pick up on that was, for lack of better word, _cracked_ open, to reveal a model frigate ship inside. "You celebrating Easter early, or something?"

Rudy bit his lip to keep from bursting out with laughter for some reason. He obviously must have known about this. "They're _Fabergé_ eggs, Your Highness."

Persephone beamed sheepishly. "I like to collect them! Don't judge!"

Roy held up his hands. "Not judging. Just… questioning your taste."

"That's _judging_."

"That's a matter of semantics."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you want to see the photos or not?"

The bizarre moment sank into the depths of Roy's mind. "Yes, please."

Persephone gave him a funny look, and popped open her laptop. It took mere seconds for the screen to light up, for Persephone to key her password, for her to open the folder labelled _Photos._

And there were tons and tons of photos.

"You may judge the Fabergé eggs, but don't judge—"

"Jun?"

Ji-Yu's voice froze Roy still.

She, Merrick, and Eleanor Cahill stood in the hallway. Their faces could be described as collectively weary and tired. Bags seemed to sag from all of their eyes.

Eleanor's dark brown hands were clasped together, and despite that she looked like she could collapse from exhaustion, she raised an eyebrow at the three of them. "What are you doing?"

Persephone slammed her laptop closed so fast she could've broken her arm. "Just checking my files," she said, smoothly.

A practiced lie. Persephone was a good liar.

Roy didn't have time to focus on it, because neither Ji-Yu, Merrick nor Eleanor did, either.

And it beleaguered Roy with dread.

He stepped into the hallway.

"The meeting has finished?" he asked. "What did you decide?"

Ji-Yu looped her arm in his and led him further down the hallway, away from Persephone, Eleanor and Rudy's ears. Away from Durante and Acketeer. It only sunk a stone of dread into his gut at what they were about to say.

"Jun… son," Ji-Yu said, first with strength.

Then her eyes filled with tears, and her hold on Roy's arm tightened almost to a protective vice grip.

Merrick slipped an arm around her shoulders, but even he looked like he was going to buckle with grief.

"They're untraceable. We've sent scouts out to their enclosed location, but… they either come back with nothing, or they don't come back at all." His head shook. "The only thing they want is _you._ Nothing less."

His family were being bested by rebels.

They already _had_ been, Roy realised. He clamped down on the shivers that were riding through his bones.

"The court… we can't…" Merrick didn't have the courage to meet Roy's eye. "We couldn't find another solution."

Which could only mean…

"You have to go, Roy," Ji-Yu choked through her tears. "You're the only one who can get Barnabas back."

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh dear, it seems not even Merrick and Ji-Yu have all the best solutions... Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I don't say this enough, but thank you so much to my reviewers, regular and non. I don't always have time to reply you all, but always know that your kind words and unending enthusiasm never fails to make me laugh and want to work on this story. It's so fun to get to share this tale with all of you, and I doubt I'd have continued this far without all your support, so I really, whole-heartedly appreciate it! Thank you, thank you, thank you! *throws good vibes at everyone*

If you have time, please check out my other fanfiction, Select Few! It's a companion fic to this one, detailing snippets of the lives of the other characters. The latest chapter was posted last week, and if you need a Gail fix, I got you covered. :P

As always, I'd love a review, favourite or follow. Thanks for reading!

And get hype, because next time... your patience shall be rewarded...

~ GWA

NTT: "The bullet pierced through skin. Roy saw blood spurt from the wound."


	41. Abduction

Roy tried not to buckle from nerves as he awaited his guard in the barracks hall.

In the new sunrise of morning, he would confront the Southern Rebels.

He fidgeted and fiddled with his hands, wishing he had something to hold, and his mind clouded with thoughts about the past few months. _I shouldn't have continued the Selection. I shouldn't have eliminated those girls. I shouldn't have had Barney caned._

But it didn't matter anymore. If his guards failed, if this plan fell to pieces, he would become their prisoner in exchange for Barney's life.

And he'd die.

Tension roiled from his parents, waiting with him on the platform. After spilling all their tears, Ji-Yu and Merrick had assured him – with their most dogged confidence – that they wouldn't let any harm come to him. They'd spent the rest of the night planning with Delacroix and an elite team of specialised firearms and strategists as Roy tossed and turned in bed with nerves. Contingency plans had accounted for fifty different scenarios. Of course, he'd be armed, and no way in hell were they going to let Roy go alone.

Delacroix and his guards trooped towards Roy and his parents. It wasn't the entire guard faculty following behind him, but plenty enough. Roy recognised Durante and Acketeer, standing to attention near the front, as well as Tristan Kidd, barely concealing his own shudder. Some other faces he'd seen more than once, too. Each was rigid with vigilance and respect.

Delacroix ascended the small platform to address the unit.

"Officers of the Royal Guard," he greeted. "Today, we embark on a harrowing task. No doubt you've heard what has happened and what needs to be done, but in case you've stuck your head in the sand, Prince Barnabas of the United Kingdom Commonwealth was kidnapped between 0800 and 0900 hours yesterday by Southern Rebel traitors. And they've given us twenty-four hours to exchange Prince Roy's life for his."

Not a guard rustled at the news. They'd all heard, Roy could tell.

"The time is now 0600. And it is time to assemble a team of brave soldiers who will risk their life for their prince and country to return Prince Barnabas _and_ keep Prince Roy from harm." His eyes seemed to bore in each guard. "This is not for the faint-hearted. You may be disarmed. You may be beaten up. You may not make it out to see the other end."

He took the moment to let it sink in. "However, know that your service will be greatly honoured. You will be rewarded, not only with respect, but also monetarily." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Their Majesties are requiring a squad of sixteen for the prince's four-car convoy, including drivers, to escort and protect him, and another sixteen for a four-car backup squad."

Roy fleetingly glanced at his parents. They were stone-faced. All their emotions had been spent, and now, they only sought thorough perfection from their security, and successful results from this convoy.

Delacroix continued. "I have selected each of you to hear this because you are bodyguards with high enough level of training to tackle such adversity. I know I can put His Highness' life and the life of your comrades in your hands." He plucked a clipboard from the table at the back of the platform. Roy saw it listed every guard's name present. "I would like volunteers to work alongside our snipers within the mountains to eliminate this threat once and for all."

A breathy gasp came from the front row. Roy's attention was caught by Acketeer, who suddenly paled.

If Delacroix noticed, he didn't address it. "This meeting will not adjourn until there are thirty-two volunteers. We are under time limit, but please consider carefully."

Silence slid through the cadets. Roy expected there to be a few minutes of silence, but there was an immediate volunteer – Durante. He raised his hand above the rest.

"I will volunteer," he said. "I would also like to travel with His Highness as well, if His Highness will allow me."

Roy felt his gut drop. If something happened to Durante… he couldn't live with the guilt. But he swallowed and nodded his head nonetheless, and the guard gave him a slight nod in acknowledgement.

"Thank you, Officer Joseph Durante. I expected no less from you," Delacroix said. "Anyone else?"

This time there was a short gap, but soon, hands raised. Brave soldiers. All of them. They formed an orderly line at the front, and it allowed Roy to see and remember each of their faces. It almost brought him to tears.

When thirty-one guards stood in the line, Delacroix tapped his board. "All right, one more. Who will fight for their country?"

A hand near the back raised, but just as she spoke, Acketeer's shot up, and she yelled louder than the other guard did.

"I would like to volunteer!" It came out in one harried breath.

"Officer Robin Acketeer, I believe Officer Naomi Astrauskas beat you to it." Delacroix nodded his head at the guard at the back. "Thank you for volunteering, Astrau—"

"No, please," Acketeer cut through. She bowed her head in reverence. "I-I'd like to join. Please."

"You should have spoken earlier," Delacroix said, "if you were so eager, officer."

Durante coughed. "With respect, sir, Officer Acketeer is not really qualified to do this. She was only promoted to bodyguard when the Windsor Princes wanted someone with keen eyes to search His Highness for alcohol."

This sent a rustle of amusement in the crowd. Acketeer's cheeks blistered red.

Delacroix twisted his lips. "Yes, you're right." He peaked an eyebrow at her. "You shouldn't really be permitted to do this."

"I'm sorry the deliberation took so long. I… just had a lot to consider. Please," Acketeer said. Her eyes focused on Roy, then. "Please, if His Highness will let me. I may be a glorified breathalyser, but I have served under him for a while now, and I would like to continue doing my job to protect the people I care about."

Roy suddenly realised she wanted his input. He baulked, as all the eyes weighed on him.

He couldn't fault Acketeer's diligence, her tenacity, but if she really wasn't qualified to do this, was it a good idea to bring her? He stared at her for a moment, calculating, and he could only see a desperate hope blossoming in her eyes. She _needed_ to join, or she would have no peace at night.

He sighed through his nostrils. "Yes, very well. I will accept Officer Acketeer."

Delacroix's moustache seemed to rustle. "Very well. Acketeer, welcome to the team." He bent to Durante and whispered, loud enough for Roy to hear, "You must keep an eye on her."

Durante nodded, though irritation needled him. He wasn't pleased to have to babysit.

Delacroix cleared his throat. "Next time, Astrauskas. I won't forget your willingness to volunteer." He nodded his head and turned to the line at the front, whom Roy would be indebted to for the rest of his life. "And we have our unit. Please wait for briefing and kit to follow shortly after this meeting. The rest of you are dismissed."

Orderly queues filed out, leaving the brave thirty-two left. Acketeer didn't look pleased that she'd made the final cut, with sweat stippling her forehead and cheeks. It more looked like she knew she was about to die.

Ji-Yu caught Roy's arm. "I think it's time we prepare you, too."

As the guards were briefed and kitted to the brim with guns, ammo and knives, Roy fixed bulletproof vests under his shirt and padding across his vital parts. He was briefed on their Plan A, on their Plan B, Plan C and D. Guilt wormed its way into his system when he realised how little he had to do – but only act a part of submissive prince.

Make sure Barney was safe. Initiate the trade. Await snipers to take them all out.

The minutes ticked by, and soon the threshold crept dangerously close to Barney's death.

Roy's goodbye to Merrick and Ji-Yu was a fleeting one. Neither wanted to part with him. They squeezed him, and the heat was almost suffocating under the armour.

"Good luck, son," said Ji-Yu.

"You'll be safe. You'll come back," said Merrick.

It sounded like he had been saying that to convince himself, rather than reassure Roy.

Still, Roy tried not to cry as he boarded the bulletproof four-by-four, one of a convoy of four with Durante, Acketeer and another guard opposite him, and drove to the rebels' enclosed location.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The ride through the mountainous terrain of Angeles was quiet.

As if everyone wondered whether Roy would return to the palace alive.

As he stared out of the window, the guileless city enveloping him, Roy tried not to focus on the impending doom, and his thoughts travelled to yesterday. After failing to search Persephone's photos, he'd secretly asked Rudy to do it in case this whole thing uprooted the spy from where she stood. Rudy had agreed. They hadn't said goodbye that morning, because Rudy had insisted Roy would return, that they'd see each other soon.

Roy hoped. He hoped this plan didn't fail. He hoped the rebels didn't outwit them again.

He'd not said a word to the Selected, either, but now that Persephone knew what was going on, no doubt the rest would be informed via word of mouth.

Hadn't said goodbye to them, either.

Roy tugged at the earpiece. People were communicating through it, and he was supposed to listen, but his thoughts were hazy with ominous calm.

Breaking the silence, Durante said, "Are you all right, Your Highness?"

Roy just gave him a look. "What do you think?"

"You'll be fine," he said. "All you have to do is get them to reveal Prince Barnabas."

 _All you have to do._ He made it seem so effortless. Roy wished he had even a morsel of that confidence now.

Roy could act. He'd been acting this whole Selection, after all. Pretending there was no such thing as a spy.

But if they saw through him, if he didn't convince them to play their hand…

 _If I make a single mistake…_

But Durante had faith. Rudy had faith. His parents had faith. Roy should have had faith in himself too, and his guard. His was _the prince,_ not to be trifled with. It was a struggle, but he inflated that arrogance within him.

 _I do not make mistakes._

He would walk away today. Alive. With Barney. Alive.

He gave Durante a knowing smile. Durante nodded in acknowledgement. Roy slid his eyes to Acketeer.

Chewing her lip, Acketeer gazed feverishly out the window, snagging on the upcoming hills. Her fingers twitched, fisted, intertwined and pulled apart. Nervousness had veiled her, too, and it was making Roy feel restless, himself. He had to wonder whether she really _would_ achieve a peace of mind volunteering, but it was too late to turn back now. Acketeer had made her bed, and now she had to sleep in it.

When the convoy pulled into a derelict warehouse complex miles from the city centre – possibly crossing into Sonage, the province next door – Roy wasn't surprised. Chain-link fences drooped across the perimeter, bending to the will of thick, dry shrubbery and dust. The buildings loomed ahead, with several boarded-up outhouses nailed and graffitied. Glass fragments littered the grounds, brushed into the mounds of broken crates and steel drums.

Exactly the place for Southern Rebel antics.

The wind cut into him as he stepped out. The courtyard was empty. Durante and Acketeer behind him wavered, their hands hovering over their holsters. As the last of the convoy pulled to a stop and emptied their guard, a tenseness flowed over them.

"So, he appears," said a voice.

 _Newton's Wife._

It sounded like they'd installed some speaker system somewhere into the yard – her voice echoed across as if she were everywhere all at once.

"Where are you?" Roy croaked.

"I want your entire guard stripped of their weapons and lined up behind your transports. Leave the doors open."

He raised his hands in surrender. Slowly, rebels slid from the shadows and treaded towards them, dressed in their darkest colours and armed with the sharpest of blades. Most of them had bandanas to cover their mouths and caps to cover their hair. Guns were nestled in their unstrapped holsters, ready to use whenever necessary.

They searched Roy for weapons – finding the knife in his coat jacket – and discarded it into a hessian sack. Durante and Acketeer and the rest of the guard were forced to stand behind the convoy cars, each with its doors and boots wide open. No surprises there. All of the unit's weaponry bulged in the sack. Rebels stood behind them like ghosts.

Roy hoped that, far away, in the surrounding hills and mountains, marksmen and women had lined the crests of the hills to prepare to fire.

"All right, we have no more weapons," Roy announced. "Where are you? Where is my cousin?"

The planked door to the largest building, hulking over the courtyard in the centre, suddenly swung open like it had been deliberately designed to look like it was boarded up. A pair of boots crunched into the dirt, made of black suede. The person was tall, lithe. A bandana crossed their face, a hood shadowed their eyes. It seemed like the darkness had moulded them a body made of shadow and obsidian.

But Roy recognised them. Her.

"We meet in person," said Newton's Wife. Her voice still blared from the speakers, slithery and clawed. "What an occasion."

She was taller in person. Slimmer, too. He wasn't sure what he had expected, in all honestly, when all he had was a bust and a voice to denote her. She seemed so poised, so collected, as she stood at the other end of the courtyard, and it drove an intimidation of his task down, up, through his entire body.

"I've been dying to meet you, Prince Roy," she said. "You are far scrawnier in real life."

Roy barked a laugh – a stupid, nervous laugh. "Sorry I don't meet your standards, but I wasn't going to go out of my way for the likes of you." He grounded his feet into the dirt. "Now. Where is my cousin?"

"Now, now," Newton's Wife said pleasantly. "We want _you_ first."

"The deal is me for _him_ ," Roy snapped. "And I want to know if my cousin is alive and well."

"Well, I'm afraid, we will not hand him over until we have you."

"I will not walk to you until I see him."

Newton's Wife rolled her lips in a curious manner, before she split into a bright grin. "Very well." She snapped her fingers at her rebels. "Bring him."

Rebels stepped out through the fake door behind her, dragging a boy in silk pyjamas, torn at the elbows and knees. A sack was tied around his head, and his hands bound with thick rope.

Barney.

Instincts kicked in. Or… was it…? He couldn't ascertain it was him when he had no tracking chip to use. Barney not having the stupid implant had made this all so much more difficult.

"Take off the sack," Roy demanded.

"Not part of the deal," said Newton's Wife.

"How do I know that's him?"

"I can assure you with great certainty, this is Prince _Barnabas,"_ her mouth cocked with a knowing smile, "Your Royal Highness."

They knew they'd poached the wrong twin. It may have made Barney more disposable than Alex, but in the end, it hadn't mattered. Roy had still shown up. He swallowed the bundle of saliva that had collected in his throat.

"Prove that's Prince Barnabas or the deal is off."

His first mistake.

"Very well."

Newton's Wife drew a rebel's gun and shot Barney's leg.

The bullet pierced through skin. Roy saw blood spurt from the wound.

And he heard Barney's voice scream from beneath the bag.

Roy's insides shrivelled. _I just had Barney shot._

Newton's Wife holstered the weapon. "Is that proof enough?"

Roy had to stop his useless heart from seizing right then and there. "Y-Yes." His voice betrayed his sudden terror.

Newton's Wife seemed to leer. "You know, I wasn't sure you were going to appear. You did cut it very close to our deadline." She gestured a hand swathed in generous sleeves to Barney. "I had thought, perhaps, you hated Barnabas with so much fury that you would let him die."

Spooling his nerves with practiced breathing, Roy said, "I'm not heartless, unlike you." It came out with more confidence than he expected.

Newton's Wife smirked. "You just had your cousin shot. He could bleed to death now. Lose his leg. I'd say that qualifies as _heartless_."

It stifled Roy. "That's not—"

"Now, _heartless prince,"_ she said, gesturing for Roy to come towards her. "The trade, as we agreed. We won't kill you."

Roy shoved away the comment and focused. She was right, in that he wouldn't die by their hands. Because his life was reserved for Walter Wolanski. With a quick glance at the rebel faces, Roy guessed the elusive leader of the Southern Rebels wasn't here yet, if he were here at all.

He flicked his head over his shoulder. Durante was still. Sweat lacquered his face, and his shoulders pulled so tightly inwards it looked like he was rearing to punch someone. Acketeer was stone-faced, but, as he saw her fingers through the open doors of the limo, they still twitched restlessly.

 _I can do this._

He turned back. If he kept thinking of what _might_ happen, he'd burst into tears. So, slowly, Roy walked to the other side. Rebels came forward and seized his arms, and he felt rope tying around his wrists.

"Send Barney over," Roy demanded. "That was the trade."

"Indeed," said Newton's Wife. "But two princes certainly makes for an excellent bargaining chip."

The words coiled around Roy's lungs.

" _No!"_ he shrieked.

But they began to drag Barney back inside.

As Roy kicked and writhed, everything seemed to slow. He screamed, he bellowed. He yelled for help, for the snipers to do their damn jobs. A scuffle ruptured his desperation.

Then a bullet skimmed right passed his head. Level with his ear.

And planted itself into Newton's Wife's shoulder.

Something in Roy's ear buzzed. The earpiece. _Fire at will._

Newton's Wife howled, staggering backwards, just as screeching shots pierced the courtyard in unison.

Rebels dropped dead. Everywhere. Every single one. A sharp, tangy smell rose instantly as blood dappled the ground and mixed with the dirt, painting the courtyard in dark, metallic red.

Newton's Wife screamed, grabbing Barney and using him as a shield until she was safely indoors. Then she shoved him forwards and slammed the door, concealing her inside. Shouts and orders exploded from behind him. Roy pulled his arms free of the loosely tied rope and lunged for Barney.

Barney moaned in pain, still blinded. The wound had penetrated his left thigh. Blood splattered over his pyjamas. Roy could see the stubs of his veins and muscle through the cavity, and fought the lurch of nausea in his stomach.

With no time to remove the sack, he seized Barney's arm. "We have to go. _Now."_

Barney couldn't run. He could hardly walk. Roy looped his arm around him and half helped, half dragged, Barney back to the convoy. Rebels appeared and plunged to the ground as soon as they popped free from their hiding places, like a lethal rain had descended upon them.

The rebels were dead behind the row of guards, too.

Acketeer had a gun in her hands. Smoke curled from the barrel.

 _She fired that first shot,_ Roy realised, with horror.

Durante ran forwards, shoved Roy and Barney into a vehicle and pointed at the convoy. " _Go, go, go!"_

The driver kicked the SUV into motion. More rebels poured from the buildings, peppering the convoy with gunshots. Roy's head was forced down by Durante, and he tucked it between his knees. He could hear the force of the bullets, bouncing off the bulletproof frame of the vehicles as they tore from the courtyard, out of the warehouse complex, and speeding onto the road.

His earpiece blared with noise. _Send the reinforcements. Flush them out._

For what felt like forever, Roy kept his head down. He stared hard at the leather seat until it looked like it was swirling like ink.

Finally, Durante removed his hand.

"It's safe," he said.

Roy sat up. Shivers jolted up and down his spine, and he couldn't stop them. His mind was so messy with thoughts that he couldn't think straight, couldn't even detect the churning in his stomach.

Barney, next to him, whimpered. "R-Roy?"

As Durante staunched the blood loss with a medical kit, Roy removed the hood. Barney's cheeks had been permanently stained with tears. A large black bruise swelled from his eye and puffed at his jaw, and there were cuts and scratches all over him. The wound was trying hard to seal itself up, but by Barney's twisted face, it hurt like hell.

Fresh tears wept from Barney. "Oh my god. I-I'm alive. _You're_ alive." He dared lift a smile, however much it quivered. "We're _safe_."

The wound didn't stop Barney from hugging Roy fiercely, and crying on his shoulder.

But Roy didn't stop shaking. His heart didn't calm down. His stomach didn't stop storming.

That scene kept replaying in his head.

 _That bullet had been so close._ He could still feel its echo, skimming his ear.

Roy didn't have the gall to ask about Acketeer, who had lunged into another vehicle during their escape. Durante dressed the wound as best as he could, and Roy watched his fingers tug on the bandages and the ointments. For the rest of the journey, he just held onto his weeping cousin, only pausing to vomit into a sick bag.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Upon return to the palace, the convoy was shepherded to the barracks command centre, which had been transformed into a makeshift clinic between the screens and control panels. The people with more serious injuries – a few of the guards, and Barney – had been sent straight to the infirmary for Dr Strong and team to look over. Roy, however, entered the barracks to the flurry of noise and cheers.

Merrick and Ji-Yu sprinted from their platform over a table and several blueprints and diagrams and threw themselves into his arms. Roy didn't say anything at first, and he fell into their embrace and squeezed like he'd never let them go. At some point, tears stained their clothes. He wasn't sure when. It all seemed to slide along to fast for him to keep up.

"You did it, son," Merrick said, gripping him and Ji-Yu tightly. "You're all right. You brave, _brave_ man."

Roy felt anything but brave.

As the rest of the group filed inside, Delacroix came down and shook Roy's hand – Roy's hands were soaked with sweat, but Delacroix didn't seem to care. He only gave a respectful nod in Roy's direction.

"Excellent work, Your Highness," he said.

"Thank you," Roy said.

Delacroix addressed the convoy then, clapping them all on the back, shaking their hands.

Until he came to Acketeer.

Suddenly, he exuberated a quiet rage. It created welts of his veins over his head.

"Care to explain to me, officer," he barked through his ginger beard, "why you thought it appropriate to break protocol?"

All the eyes of the present guard stared at her intently. They wanted to know why, too. There was a plan, and she'd almost jeopardised it. Durante looked particularly cross, his eyebrows cutting into his eyes.

The rebel-issue gun was tucked into her holster. It almost taunted Roy. He could see a ghost of its smoke, whirling into the air.

Acketeer's face tightened at his words.

"His Highness' life was in jeopardy," she said. "About to be taken inside that building, where the snipers had no range, and I saw the opportunity."

To his credit, Delacroix didn't interrupt her, but he looked furious at her words. "You _insisted_ you accompany the team on this mission _last minute,_ and then you have the audacity to act on your own whims. You heard on the comms that we were about to engage."

Durante muttered, "She nearly shot His Highness, too. I saw. The bullet barely missed his head."

Acketeer turned beetroot red from embarrassment, whereas Delacroix turned beetroot red from rage.

"Is this true?" he snapped.

But she puffed out her chest and stood her ground. "I saw the opportunity and I took it," she repeated. "I did not miss. I hit her. I prevented her from drawing her gun on anyone else!"

"You nearly killed him!" Delacroix barked.

"I-I prevented him from being killed! Any one of those armed rebels could have shot him!" she said, with controlled anger. "I have damn well done my job, and I don't regret it."

That one bullet may have missed him, but it had permanently etched into his memory. He could still feel the air spiralling in a vortex around his head from its momentum. And he remembered the snipers' shots, skipping by Newton's Wife's feet, missing her entirely.

In trying to save Roy, Acketeer had inadvertently saved _Newton's Wife_.

It dropped dread into his stomach.

Perhaps Acketeer deserved it for her recklessness. Roy just couldn't think on it at the moment. In the second of clarity, he tugged on his mother's arm. "I-I'm going to the infirmary. I need to be checked out properly."

Ji-Yu shook out of her reverie, clearly enraptured by the argument. "Yes, go. I'll join you soon, "she whispered, "as soon as I hear about this."

Roy left. Acketeer was still making her case. He wasn't sure she'd won people to her side or not but by the time their voices were all a muffle, her dying tone was enough indication.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Nurses and doctors crossed between the infirmary wards with hurry. It was the busiest Roy had ever seen it, even after the attack during the fashion show. Curtains were slung haphazardly across each division, showing the injured guards with bandages wrapped around their torsos, or nurses applying tinctures to their bloodied shoulders.

He changed into a hospital-issue T-shirt and trousers before Dr Nagi ushered him to her clinic personally. She'd administered paracetamols for his weakened stomach, and referred him to a psychiatrist for the next few weeks, in case the lingering memories of the shoot-out triggered any adverse psychological effects. Roy was certain enough that hadn't developed PTSD or the like, but he was sure the moments would haunt him for a long time.

At the end of his check-up, he'd asked, "Where's Barney?"

"With his brother, in the private room at the back." She tilted her head. "Barnabas asked me to send you there whenever you could."

A sudden spindle of apprehension grappled him, but for the first time, he wasn't outright hostile to the idea to visit them.

He came to the private room and knocked.

"Come in," croaked Alex's voice.

He was the same when Roy had left him the day before. Gauze plastered to almost every inch of his back. Strange solutions on his bedside table, meant to ease his pain.

Barney was dressed in a hospital gown. One arm was clasped the arms of his wheelchair tightly, the other gripping the ice pack to his bruised jaw, but he relaxed when he saw Roy's face.

"Roy," the twins greeted in unison.

Roy shut the door behind him and scoffed. "Please don't do the creepy twin thing where you speak at the same time."

A smirk tugged on Alex's lips. "You go through hell and _that's_ the first thing you want to say to us?"

Roy had the urge to laugh – not mockingly or with meanness. With abandon. Freely.

"What would you want me to say instead then? _Wow, that sucked?"_

Barney shrugged. His face was red but even he seemed to be faring much better than just an hour ago. "I mean, you do have a point. It did suck."

"Astronomically," Roy said.

The three boys were silent for a moment.

Then Roy said, "How are you?"

Barney glanced at his leg, as if he could see straight through the thin fabric of the gown. "I'll see a psychiatrist this afternoon, but… the rebels were oddly kind to me. I'm shaken but… okay. As for the leg, well, thank god, the bullet didn't pierce anything vital, and I didn't lose too much blood, but it'll probably never heal the same. Caught some ligaments and tendons."

"When will you walk?"

"It's hard to say," Barney said. "The bullet cracked some of my bones, as well. The wound might heal, but it'll take me a few weeks to get up and running again."

 _Weeks._ That had been Roy's fault.

Barney seemed to read his mind. "Don't blame yourself for it, Roy. I would've done the same thing in your position. Demanded an identity check." He smiled – it was light, not at all the most blinding smile, but it spoke volumes of appreciation. "Thank you. You didn't have to do this for me."

"I did," Roy said immediately. "There was no other way."

"There is always another way," Alex jumped in. "They could have sent SWAT team in to retrieve Barnabas and blasted every single rebel force present. Even at risk of Barnabas being absent." He sighed. "And even then, they could have cleared a rebel hideout, but instead, you agreed to their demands to ensure my brother's safety."

"Anyone would do the same."

"No," Alex said, with conviction. "They wouldn't."

Perhaps Alex was right. How many would risk their lives, would practically strip themselves down to their most vulnerable, for the people they barely felt any fealty to?

Alex loosed another sigh, glancing at Barney for a moment. Barney nodded, and Alex looked back at Roy.

"We've… had our ups and downs, over this last month. Over the years of our relationship."

Barney rolled his eyes – and that was a sight to behold. "We've treated you terribly."

So… was this their confession? It felt so unnecessary now.

"I haven't exactly been the kindest to you either," Roy said evenly.

"Either way," Alex said, "I'm sure we have fed our rivalry more than you have. For so many years I had always thought you… so blasé, so… _vain,_ Roy, that I did always wonder how we would take our alliance into the future, when we both ruled our respective countries."

Roy felt his chest hollow at the words.

"Barney has been trying to talk sense into me for a while now, but I suppose out of pettiness, I refused to see his point of view." Alex pinned a stare to the vase on his bedside table. "But… I had considered, perhaps, that my vision of you has been coloured by our silly childhood competitiveness."

The room wasn't hot, but Roy felt stifled in his T-shirt.

Alex's shrug was slow and fleeting, and he smiled sheepishly. "Now I suppose there is no denying that I have unfairly remained staunch with my opinion of you. An opinion that hasn't changed since we were younger than ten."

His arm floated upwards – Roy could see the movement pained him. He didn't understand what he was doing at first, until Alex twisted his wrist so that his palm was open.

For Roy to shake.

"I think…" Alex said with shallow breath. "I think it's time we bury the hatchet, Roy."

For so many years they had this stupid contest between them. Who was the best at everything. Who was the brightest mind. The strongest resolve.

And now… Alex wanted it to end.

Roy smiled. It had taken him a while to realise, too, that Alex wasn't as horrid as he made him out to be. Sure, he was brackish and aggressive in his approach to problems, but it made him a competitor. It made him a king.

It didn't mean he was forgiving Alex for everything that had happened between them. But the fact that he'd taken his brother's place in the caning… that was testament to his true character, too.

Roy took his hand and shook.

"It looks like we are in agreement once more, Alexander."

Alex snorted. "Oh, what the hell. You might as well call me Alex. Everyone else does."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Barney doesn't."

"He does. Just in private. When we're not trying to put on a show."

"We use full names when we're angry, too," Barney added.

He reached out then, and Roy shook his hand as well. It was clammier than Alex's, but no less humbling.

Barney swallowed audibly. "No hard feelings about Alisa?"

Roy wondered what she'd been doing today. Had she left the palace yet? Everyone would have heard about the kidnapping by now, whether it was Alex's or Barney's.

"No," he said coolly. "Though you really should've waited until _after_ my Selection to court her."

Barney actually blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Absolutely, I made a mistake. I…" He looked at Roy. "I was worried I'd never get to see her again, because, well… the way you and Alex were going, I just thought… maybe I'd never be allowed back here. I'd return home, and she'd return to Whites, and… I just couldn't bear the thought." He breathed slowly. "That's not really an excuse, I know, but… love makes you do stupid things."

Alex's laughed scathed. "Too damn right."

Barney winced. "I'm sorry for causing such a ruckus."

It didn't hurt so much anymore. The betrayal of him and Alisa. Perhaps no more than a minor ache, skittering over the surface of Roy's skin. A few more days sleep and it wouldn't even bother him anymore, like an old scar.

"I'm sorry you thought you wouldn't be allowed to return here. You're always welcome."

Barney smiled at this. "Thank you." He cleared his throat, that blush rising again. Maybe he'd inherited the Schreave affinity to blush, too. "Where is she? Alisa? Can I see her?"

"I'm not sure if—"

A knock.

"Who is it?" Alex questioned.

"E-Erm, Prince Alexander," came Alisa's voice. "I… I just, I heard Barney was in the infirmary, and I thought maybe you'd know where he was—"

Barney seemed to melt with awe in his wheelchair. "Alisa, come in."

Speak of the devil. Alisa inched open the door. She looked more a mess than when she'd been captured, her cheeks red with old tears, her hair strung in the sloppiest bun. She inhaled the sight of Roy standing by the door and Barney in the wheelchair—

Tears burst into her eyes.

"Oh my god, Barney," she said, instantly going to him and bending to hug. He gasped with the suddenness of it, but eventually wrapped her in his arms and pulled tightly.

"Hi, Lissy," he said, grinning from ear to ear. Tears welled in his eyes again as she sobbed into him.

She relinquished her grip after a few moments and pulled Roy into a hug. "I was so worried about you. Both of you."

Roy petted her hair. "We're okay."

He sobs were muffled in his T-shirt. "Thank you, Roy. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

He said nothing, but squeezed her to show his appreciation. He would miss Alisa, even if he didn't know her as well as he would've liked. She released him and wiped a tear from her eye, beaming a brilliant smile like a sunbeam after a long rain.

"You are so worthy of every single woman in your Selection, Roy. If you'd go to the ends of the earth to save a cousin you have a rocky relationship with, I have no fear you'll… do right by whomever you chose in your Selection," she whispered. "You are lucky to have them, but they are also lucky to have you."

It was Roy's turn to blush. "Ah, pffft. Well. You know. Thank you. I try."

Alex snorted. "Oh, for goodness sake."

They all laughed, and it was the lightest Roy had felt in weeks. Alisa turned back to Barney and held onto his hands. Roy suddenly understood the meaning of _heart eyes_.

"Get your own room, you two," Alex said, but it was laced with teasing.

Barney stuck out his tongue – it was a gesture that solidified their brotherhood – and wheeled himself from the room, Alisa in tow.

Roy fumbled with his hands and said, "I'd better let you rest."

"Wait, Roy," Alex said. He smiled. "Thank you."

Roy paused. Considered the words.

Then smiled back, and left the room.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The rest of the day, Roy had been forced to rest by his parents. Numerous people had come to commend him for his bravery, which Roy only shrugged onto the brave men and women on duty with him, as well. By evening, he was in his bedroom, in his pyjamas, wrapped in his blankets, his tablet computer playing inane reruns of a sitcom. Never had he felt so comfortable.

Rudy had brought up a tray of pretzels, chocolates, and chewy sweets, and he plucked one of the pretzels from the tray. "I'm glad Officer Durante is all right."

Roy shoved some sweets into his mouth. "He was the most collected out of all of us."

Rudy smiled at that. "I expected so."

"He's returning to service tonight. Guarding my door."

Rudy's eyebrows soared up on his forehead. "What? But he needs rest!" He scowled. "That man doesn't know when to quit, I swear."

"You go tell him that then," Roy said – then, a smirk toyed with his lips. "Maybe offer to _help_ him rest, eh?"

Rudy flushed. "Oh, shut up."

Roy chuckled. Their last meeting that morning had been a sombre one, and now they were back to just bantering with one another. Roy hadn't realised how burdened that morning had been now that he sat here and tossed out laughs and jokes.

Though it did remind him of something important. He lowered the volume of his tablet computer.

"Did you manage to search Persephone's laptop, and ask around about anyone suspicious going down to the Windsor's wing or the guards' barracks?"

At this, Rudy deflated, and sat at the edge of Roy's bed. "Ah, yes." He expelled a long breath. "Regarding Persephone, she watched me the whole time, but I skimmed over every photo in that folder on her laptop, and there wasn't a shred of evidence to suggest she was a rebel spy."

It sobered Roy. "And… yesterday morning? What was she photographing?"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "The sky. I should've expected it, really." He shook his head. "As for the wait staff, no one saw anything."

It was Roy's turn to deflate. Square one sucked.

"But," Rudy said – and Roy perked up, "Joseph and I exchanged information, and Acketeer said she also happened to be late, and she _also_ says she saw Persephone around the guards' barracks that morning."

Roy's heart bled with horror. "So, then— that means—"

"Hold on," Rudy held up his hand. "Seph… I don't know why she was down there, and I considered she that she could still have erased the surveillance footage – but then I had a thought. The cameras were on the Selected during the caning, yes?"

"… So?" Roy said.

"So if any of them weren't present, or were late, we would know from the footage."

"And?"

"Skye was late, as she said. Persephone was later. But the timing doesn't match. _All_ the girls were present when the CCTV was looped or deleted."

"So… _none_ of the girls went into the command centre?"

"None of them," Rudy confirmed.

Roy let this sink in. "But then… what about what Acketeer said?"

"I think she might've mistaken the timing, is all." He pressed his lips together with a bitterness. "It's not like it's the first time Acketeer has spewed secrets for drama's sake, or made a complete error in judgement."

Roy decided he'd have to dig more details about that whole fiasco later on. His mind was working far too hard to figure out their current problem. "So if it wasn't the spy who drugged the guards… who _did?"_

Rudy gulped. "I wondered this too." His eyes flashed with warning. "And I came to the conclusion that it has to be someone with inside access."

That hit Roy like a ton of bricks. It was to be expected, that the spy would have help, but… on this scale? Who looked innocent enough to traipse into the guards' barracks and forcibly drug the patrols?

Rudy sighed. "It's made me wonder who we can really trust. I mean, the only person I absolutely trust is Joseph." He tilted his head. "Well, and my friend, Naomi, too. She's Gail's bodyguard."

Counting her, Rudy, Durante, Acketeer, and all the other guards that accompanied him today… "That's thirty-four members of staff I put my trust in," Roy said, "in a palace that employs hundreds."

"It's only a possibility. It might not be true," Rudy conceded. He rose. "And I think we shouldn't dwell on it anymore tonight. You need your rest."

Roy twisted his lips in thought. "But… if the spy had help…"

"I know, but if Durante _is_ guarding your door tonight, I trust you will be safe until tomorrow. Then we can go over the Board again and reconsider our options."

His mind was too awake, too geared up for sleep, but he relented all the same. "Okay."

Rudy nodded. He swiped another pretzel off the bowl. "Don't eat too much candy, Your Highness."

He shut the door with a gentle click.

Roy slid his tray onto his bedside table and tried to cuddle up and watch the show, but now his thoughts were nailed on this problem. The spy had help. No doubt, if she knew that everyone would be out to watch the caning, she'd inform her rebel superiors to take advantage of an empty palace. Newton's Wife would jump at the chance.

But who had helped?

Roy chewed on this, the hours flying by, and though Rudy was right that he wouldn't figure it out tonight, he'd eaten so many sweets that sugar pelted through him and fuelled his imagination. Even after Durante had softly announced his presence to Roy, and when the palace had quietened with night, Roy knew he couldn't sleep.

Slipping out of bed, he left his tablet on his covers, slid the Board from underneath his bed and tiptoed into the bathroom. The light dial rolled in his fingers, filling the room with a gentle orange flush. Then, he moved the divider, and hung the Board limply on the wall.

It stared back at him. No answers sprang to his mind.

He took one of the red felt _X_ s and stuck it on Alisa's face before panning to regard each photo, each profile of his remaining Selected girls.

The Day of Dates two days ago… hadn't revealed anything substantial. But why? The rebels should've taken opportunity of the moment. Roy, outside the palace, with only Durante and Acketeer known to accompany them on each outing? It was the perfect setup for a kidnapping. Perhaps the beach was too open to passers-by. Perhaps the café had been too busy with props. Perhaps the rock-climbing facility was too watched with cameras.

He glanced at Persephone's profile. Rudy had scrawled a note for Roy in his absence: _Persephone spotted going towards the guards' barracks_ , with an addendum in a different pen that read, _by two people._ Yet, her smile gleamed back at him. Could she really have had a hand in this? Could she really have been the spy?

His eyes trailed over the rest of the girls. Maybe it was someone he didn't even suspect, and she had played him for a fool this whole time. There were so many variables and he wasn't even sure he'd done the best job at seeking the spy.

In all honesty, no one struck him as particularly rebellious.

Instead, to give him something to do, he scribbled about each of his dates from two days ago.

 _I've never seen Delia's paintings._ Obsolete, now. Her painting of him was being officially appraised and fitted to hang on his walls, and it was nothing to scoff at. He added the note: _Delia paints well._

Regina's date had been a little whacky, a little wild, but fun all the same. _Regina writes everything down,_ was the note next to her name, so he simply added, _because she forgets things easily._

She'd also called him _cute dorky,_ and even thinking back to it made a blush rear up on his cheeks.

Shooing it away, he looked at the last girl he dated: Skylar Davenport.

 _Weird vibes._

He was nearly certain she didn't give him weird vibes anymore, though it did strike him as weird she'd rat on Persephone.

Then he thought back. The Alisa and Barney news had cut their date short.

He glanced at Skye's picture. Maybe they just hadn't had the chance to strike yet? Maybe treason had ruined their plan?

Part of his mind squirmed. _Or maybe you're overthinking. That girl wanted to kiss you._ He did long for that moment back, so he could finish the kiss. Feel someone on his lips, for a fragment of bliss in a harrowing stream of time.

Skye's parents owned that resort, he remembered. Unless her parents were involved with the rebel activity, too, then there was no way she'd be the spy.

 _And_ Skye was a famous snowboarder. Would a spy allow themselves so much spotlight? A sudden bout of curiosity nibbled at him, and he dulled the lights and walked back into his bedroom. Gliding his fingers over his tablet keyboard, he searched the videos for the famous Skylar Davenport's wipe-outs. The early morning time didn't escape his notice, and he knew that at two-thirty, he'd probably start going delirious with theories.

Up popped several promotional videos featuring Skye for the Davenport Sports Resorts. Roy clicked one that said, _Skylar Davenport Wipe-Out_ and found himself chuckling along as a slightly younger Skye split from the snowy slopes and leapt into the air, her board curling around her body with her legs, then slamming face-first into a dune of snow with a shriek.

The reporter in the video ran for a closer angle. Davenport logos and sponsorships littered the low bar on the picture. Skye peeled herself from the snow and laughed, clumps stuck in her hair.

Roy felt a tang of guilt curdling on his tongue. Was he really overthinking this?

" _Skylar! Are you all right?"_ the reporter asked.

" _Fine, Dad!"_ she said with an amiable laugh.

So the reporter was her dad.

" _Tell me, Skye,"_ he said, " _if incidents like these are common, why do you continue to snowboard?"_

" _For fun, mostly,"_ she said, brushing herself off. " _If you don't keep practising, you'll never get better. Even if you smash into the snow"_ – she gestured to the dent of her body shape – _"and trip and fall, you have to get back up again. Or else you won't improve."_

Then, she gave a thumbs-up. " _At Davenport Sports Resort, we cater to any skill level, at any age!"_

The man slid from behind the camera to the front. He was the picture of Skye, with blonde hair that curled at the edges, and older, greyer eyes. He wrapped an arm around his daughter's snow-clod frame and grinned.

" _We encourage any and all who wish to get into sports to try your local Davenport Sports Resort."_

" _This has been Skylar,"_ she began.

" _And Isaac Davenport,"_ said her father, " _reporting in!"_

The video end screen popped up with numbers, emails, and membership deals.

But Roy was frozen.

 _Isaac Davenport._

 _Isaac._

He rewinded the video to check he hadn't misheard, but he hadn't.

 _Newton's Wife._

Like… Isaac Newton?

No. This could be a coincidence.

He scrambled to find more videos, clips. Anything, that had Skye's mother in, but she was utterly absent from the web. Despite that the resorts were _her_ venture, as Skye had told him, she wasn't there for any of the promotional material. No sound clips or interviews. No Wikipedia page. There wasn't even a picture of her face.

The only reason a CEO of a big company would want to hide themself…

Yanking his earphones free and almost tripping out of bed, Roy flailed to the door. "Durante," he called. This was too considerable to ignore. "Durante, I think I have important information—"

The door clicked open.

But Durante's unconscious form was lying in a heap on the ground.

Woven in darkness of the hallway, Officer Robin Acketeer stood above him. With a wet cloth in her hand.

 _Rohypnol._

Then his window shattered.

The silhouette slammed into Roy. Shards of glass dug into him and he fell to the floor, crushed under the person's weight. He made to scream, but an elbow cracked against his face, and voice retreated into his throat with blood. Dizziness enveloped him, swirling the room into a terrifying dark mess.

The figure, dressed in black, with the black bandana and the ten-pointed star hood shadowing their face, smacked away his attempts to fight back and knuckled Roy's forehead. A gloved hand pressed to his mouth.

Terror bled into Roy. He writhed, but Acketeer pinned him down as the other assailant shoved a rough gag into his mouth. He stared hard at his bodyguard, tears belting down his face.

 _How could she?_

Then… earlier…

She hadn't _inadvertently_ saved Newton's Wife.

She had _deliberately_ saved her _._

When they'd bound his hands and legs, pulling roughly against his skin, Roy groaned and tried to make as much noise as he could. For someone – _anyone_ – to save him from this hell. For someone to rescue him.

"Just use the damn Rohypnol already!" the assailant ordered.

Roy's insides turned to ash.

He knew that voice.

Acketeer shoved the wet cloth under Roy's nose. The smell, sharp and acidic, filled his nostrils.

 _Why didn't I notice sooner?_

And just as he started to go under, the assailant pulled back their hood.

To reveal Skylar Davenport, spy for the Southern Rebels.

* * *

 **A/N:** :)

~ GWA

NTT: "Roy pulled and yanked and tried to scream, but the rope and the gag were tight across him, cutting into his skin like a thousand knives."


	42. Too Little, Too Late

An incessant noise hummed in Roy's ears before the rest of his senses came to, and he opened his eyes.

 _Where the hell am I? What the hell happened?_

The room was low-ceilinged and dark, with only a fibre lights flickering in the corner. No windows, one door – made of some sort of tarnished metal, with scars on the surface revealing the coppery substance beneath the paint. Hot, stale air strangled him, and there was a slick sweat coiling around his skin.

Then he realised there was a gag around his mouth. And his hands were knotted together with thick, coarse rope.

 _The Southern Rebels._

 _Acketeer._

 _Skye._

The memories sucked any slumber from him. Confusion moulded into a raw terror, reaping him of sense and coherence. His brain exploded in panic, crashing throughout him, bleeding from his eyes in a sudden burst of tears. Roy pulled and yanked and tried to scream, but the rope and the gag were tight across him, cutting into his skin like a thousand knives.

One snippet stood out amongst the madness.

 _I'm going to die today._

His pyjamas were torn at places from the glass that had shattered his window, and where Skye had scuffled to keep him still.

So… she was the spy. This whole time.

His _weird vibes_ from her had been right. For the entirety of his Selection, she'd skipped around the halls, smile on face, knife behind back. And it pillaged Roy of any hope, devastating him. He'd enjoyed their date, their almost-kiss, but it was all a lie. A trick, to her.

And Acketeer…

He wasn't sure if her betrayal hurt more than Skye's. Because she had been a trusted member of his guard. She had searched his rooms, the halls, his office for her job, and now, he realised, she was a key to their operations. An escort guard definitely gave her access to the guard's barracks without suspicion, enabled her to check patrol duties. She had a profound knowledge of tracking.

How long had she been in service of the palace? Had she been radicalised before, or after taking her job here?

Tears dribbled down his cheeks. Something ached – his bones, his heart, Roy could no longer tell the difference.

He gave up trying to escape. Their ties were solid.

After about thirty minutes, voices curled into his ears. Getting louder and louder as they approached.

He recognised Newton's Wife instantly. Her usually calm demeanour had rattled with a high-pitched tremor.

"—performance was utterly terrible."

A voice shot back. "Why are you complaining now? I delivered him to you."

Skye.

"Because it matters. We could have completed this operation weeks ago, at a better time."

"I got him as early as I could."

"And you left a trail in your wake! Broken glass, an unconscious bodyguard! You're lucky if you didn't leave your own blood at the scene!"

"The bodyguard was Robin's fault, not mine."

"Skye, this was your operation, and I might have had better fared infiltrating an amateur into the Selection!" Newton's Wife chided. "What were you hoping to achieve with a sabotaged catwalk? Poisoned lipstick? Framing that other Selected girl?"

"I—" For once, she hesitated. "Look, I was trying to injure him. I tried other times, but they… they didn't work, okay? Or I had to change my plans because of guard presence. But injured meant vulnerable. I planned to take him from the infirmary. Then after _your_ spectacle at the Bonfire Ball, I realised it would be easier just to kidnap him from his own bedroom. I scouted it out. Robin helped."

Newton's Wife growl split the air. "He looks beaten and bloody when we need him to look _pristine."_

Why did they want him _pristine?_ Skye's reply was right outside. "He put up a fight."

The door swung open.

Skye stepped in first. She was wearing the same outfit from before – black trousers, black clingy top. The hood attached to her flak jacket was down, allowing her blonde hair to spill.

She stilted at Roy. "He's awake."

There was no emotion in her voice. Nothing that suggested their history.

Newton's Wife stepped in next. For the first time, her hood was down.

She was Skye's spitting image. Tall, lithe, pale skin and blonde hair, fading to a light grey. Her green eyes seemed to swamp over him with intrigue.

So Newton's Wife had been her mother this whole time. He'd practically given them a direct line to one another. Letters and calls between parents and Selected were more than allowed.

Roy tried to spit curses their way, but it only garbled in his gagged mouth.

Newton's Wife shut the door. "You clearly didn't use enough Rohypnol on him."

Skye rolled her eyes and said nothing, and leant against the wall. Patches of shadow peeled the light from her figure as if she were ghosting through time and reality.

Newton's Wife clasped her hands together and observed Roy like he were a painting in a gallery. After a moment, she removed his gag.

Roy sputtered, inhaling the stale air, before he spat at her. " _You bastards!"_ he looked desperately around, but there wasn't even a vent. "Help! Help me!"

"Save your breath, Prince Roy," Newton's Wife said. "No one can hear you. You're miles underground."

 _A clue._ Underground. He might've felt some form of joy at this revelation, but the fact was it didn't narrow his options very much. None at all, actually.

"What the hell do you want with me?"

"Not us," Newton's Wife answered. "Walter. He'll be here soon, and I'm sure he's very keen to meet you."

"That's not an answer," Roy barked. " _What do you want with me?"_

"It's not so much _with you,"_ Skye said, crossing her arms and staring airily elsewhere, "but what you represent."

Such callousness. Such nonchalance.

Skye didn't care. She never had.

Their relationship was carefully doctored, each eye gaze, each grin, each touch of their hands. Her desire to kiss him. Fake, acted.

And he had been fooled.

Newton's Wife nodded and continued for her. "We live in a time where the system of our society is rigid and unchangeable. Castes, class. To go up in the ladder, you must pay, however you can. And from that, the poor stay poor, the rich stay rich. The Southern Rebels intend to change that." Even with Roy there, her voice was smooth like chocolate spread over hot toast. "A monarchy facilitates this outdated ideal. You, most of all, Roy, with your insouciance. How easily you profligate money on socialising and booze when a majority of the lower castes could work a year and not earn even a fraction of that amount."

Roy remembered learning of a time when the Southern Rebels had been eradicated, and the castes eliminated. People were just people. No numbers to dictate their livelihoods.

He swallowed a bundle of saliva. "Then just remove the castes. My ancestors have done it before."

Newton's Wife shook her head. "It isn't that simple. Your ancestors eliminated the castes, yes, but for true equality, you must remove the monarchy, as well. Now, that is something your ancestors refused to do, in whatever capacity." She laughed coldly. "Even having the audacity to reinstate some of the stricter regulations. Removing power from the people and giving it to the few who paid their way to the top."

His great-grandmother had done that, reinstated the absolute monarchy. _Janice Schreave,_ he recalled.

"Well that's not my goddamn _fault,"_ Roy snapped. "I haven't taken office. I haven't done any of these things."

"Again, it is what you represent, Roy." Her hands whirled as she spoke. "And Walter has a personal hatred of you and your conceited indulgences. So I'm sure you can put that argument to him when he arrives."

He wasn't here yet.

Roy had to somehow figure out how to escape before Walter arrived.

But as soon as the thought of it, it deflated, scuttling into a low, dark corner in his head. The idea that Newton's Wife or Skye would help him flee was laughable, and the chances of outside help were even slimmer. What time was it even? Had his parents realised he'd been kidnapped? Did they know where he was? Were they searching for him?

He was trapped, and the realisation sank deep into Roy's bones, shattering them from within. This is where he'd take his last breaths. Where his remains would forever lie.

He drooped his head. It hurt just to look at them. "And what will you do in the meantime?"

Newton's Wife's mouth curled into a wicked smile. "You will simply wait here until his arrival." She nocked her head towards the door and moved towards it. "And neither myself nor my daughter will entertain your desperation until then."

Light spilt into the room as she reopened the door. Harsh, clinical light. Roy could only guess he were in some sort of underground medical facility, but nothing specific came to mind. He could be anywhere in the country – possibly anywhere in the _world_ – right now.

Skye's movements were languid, and she strode after Newton's Wife like how a snake meanders through tall grass. They weren't going to replace his gag, which at least allowed him to speak.

"No, Skye," he said, trying to instil some command into his brittle voice. "You owe me an explanation."

She paused at the threshold. "I owe you nothing."

"Then everything we went through meant nothing as well?"

She was silent for a few moments before sighing exasperatedly, and yelling into the corridor. "I'm going to entertain him, Mom." Then she shut the door and pranced back to her brooding wall. It bristled, how much she looked like a mugger waiting for her next victim in the night of an alleyway.

"Go on, then," she prompted. "Ask it. I know you're dying to."

He hated how literal that was. "Why?" It came out fragile and afraid. "Why did you betray me?"

"If you think about it," she said, "I was never on your side in the first place."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Then you need to be more specific."

A prickle of irritation ran through him. "Why would you go through this entire Selection charade just to spite me? You hate me and my family that much?"

"I told you. It's not personal," she said with a shrug. "You could have been an angel of a prince, and I'd still have done this. The Selection is just the easiest way to gain unlimited access to the palace. To you."

For him, the Selection was a chance at finding a future. To her, it was a means to an end. Roy swallowed the bile rising in his throat as a thought occurred to him. "Look me in the eye and tell me you want to hurt Gail, my nine-year-old sister, who barely understands the concept of a country, let alone politics."

That pressed some guilt into Skye's features, but not enough to feel any satisfaction. "Stop making me out to be the bad guy."

"You _are_ the bad guy! You're going to have me killed!"

"For the greater good!" Skye snapped. "You're right. Your sister… there's hope for her yet. But you, your parents… you're all enablers to a biased system. And being a passive enabler is just as bad as being an active one."

"Then open up a goddamn conversation instead of throwing riots, inciting violence and killing people!"

"You won't listen any other way!" Skye yelled right back – he could see the anger unfurling from her in a dark corona. "You won't listen any other way."

"How could you know that? Did you even try?"

"Yes," Skye said. "We did."

Roy growled. "Bullshit. I never heard of it."

She sneered. "Too busy partying and sticking your head in the sand."

That hitched Roy's breath.

He… hadn't much an interest in his responsibilities before the Selection. At all.

But like his mind was filled with crystal water, he remembered that first day so clearly. He'd been in bed after a party, and Merrick had told him about the troubles in the south. The spies they sent.

"My father told me you only rose in prominence recently."

Skye snorted. "No, Roy. We've been here far longer than you could anticipate. We _tried_ to open a dialogue. We held town halls. We congregated outside of council houses and protested peacefully. But the province councils, the courts, swept our concerns under a rug, and _you_ were totally ignorant to us." Her eyes thinned. "Only then did we realise our voices did not matter unless we were given a platform…"

She swaggered to the door again, hardly giving Roy time to process.

"So we built the platform ourselves."

"Why do you even care?" he challenged. "You're a Two. You're well off. You're famous enough to be a household name amongst sporty families."

Her nostrils flared. "It's not about you, and it's not about me. It is about the people who will always suffer at the bottom, and the arrogance of those who live at the top." She scoffed. "The fact that you asked me that question shows me you're going to be exactly the same as your family before you."

Roy had no response to that. "Please, Skye." The command buckled from his voice. "You know I've been trying to be better."

Skye's hand brushed the doorframe, and she stepped into the corridor. Just before it shut, she said, "Too little, too late."

The door closed with a mighty clang. And Roy was left to cry alone.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy managed to doze off for a few moments – possibly hours – before he stirred again. The waiting, the terrifying anticipation, cleaved through him with pain and increasing anxiety. He didn't know how long it would take Walter to find him, but he knew he'd never waste this opportunity.

Then he heard footsteps. Voices.

Newton's Wife again. Unlike before, where she'd sounded merely disappointed, now it was shot through with a note of desperation.

"—even check?"

Skye barked back. "O-Of course I checked! But I couldn't find it!"

"Did you report this?"

" _Yes!"_ she shrilled. "I knew what I was doing!

"Well you obviously weren't thorough enough because now we're in _this_ mess and it's your fault!"

Roy's heart plummeted into his legs.

The door barged open.

Newton's Wife marched inside too fast for him to say anything. Skye trailed in her wake, but even she looked sheepish.

"Where is it?" Newton's Wife barked.

Roy filled himself with resolve. She wanted something… from him.

"What?" he snapped.

" _Where is it?"_ she repeated, hissing. "Your tracking chip!"

A cold slid down through his chest at the same time as his heart pumped in sudden realisation.

He… had a tracking chip. Embedded in his neck. Totally forgot about it.

They hadn't removed it.

A frisson of hope popped into existence as a pinprick in Roy's stomach. _They could find me. The chip could have pinged my location._

Judging by Newton's Wife's anger, perhaps it had done just that.

He feigned innocence. "Why?"

Newton's Wife grunted in frustration, moving behind him. He felt frantic grabbing along his hand, his palm, his wrists.

 _But… of course…_ _Alex had the chip in his wrist,_ Roy thought. _That's what they were expecting._ He dared to let that hope balloon through him, swirling with the blood in his veins. Newton's Wife wouldn't be so desperate if it didn't work, if it hadn't worked.

She felt along his other hand, but came up around him when she found nothing.

" _Where is it?"_

He'd never heard her so… unhinged…

"My neck."

Her eyes widened a fraction before she stomped forwards and seized his hair, yanking him down. Her cold fingers grazed the back of his neck, resting on the tiniest of welts where the chip had been inserted.

Her head whipped around to face Skye. "You have been utterly careless."

She was too alarmed to do anything but stare. "I never heard about tracking chips in the neck. Robin told me the Windsor princes kept arguing about the wrists!"

"Well, now your mistake has cost us!" she yelled back. "Remove it, now!"

Skye stalked forwards and from her pocket produced a steel scalpel. It glittered menacingly, and the back of Roy's neck prickled with horror. It took a lot of willpower not to cry out as she dug the instrument into his flesh, the pain lancing down his spine.

Moments later, she threw the small, bloodied pill-shaped chip to the ground and crushed it with her boot.

Then a loud explosion rocked the building.

Roy's chair flew down, Roy banging his head on the cold, concrete floor. He cried out with the sudden movement. Newton's Wife stumbled and Skye buckled to her knees at the momentum, throwing out her arms to steady herself.

The rocking had started as soon as it had stopped. Sudden, jerky. Like a bomb had been set off somewhere.

 _A rescue party._

Roy let the idea fill him with last-minute resolve even as the pain jangled through his skull.

Newton's Wife hauled Skye up with little grace and said, "You need to leave." She jerked her head to the door. "Tell Robin that this is her next mission. Keep you safe. Go."

Skye bit her lip. "It can't be them. They can't have found us—"

"Did that _sound_ like a pleasant welcoming?" Newton's Wife barked. " _Get Robin and get out. Now."_

Did Roy dare to hope…? Was that a response team, soaring in to rescue him from this nightmare?

But Skye shoved her boot heel into the bitty concrete. "But Mom! What about you? What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about me," Newton's Wife replied. "Just go. Save yourselves. I'll catch up." She shot Skye a piercing look. "I swear to god, Skylar Molly, if you don't leave right this second…!"

She looked at her mother as if it might be her last moment, before he eyes swerved to meet Roy's.

Her burning shame had whittled to a tight fear. Green stormed like a wild sea in a hurricane. She looked how Roy imagined he'd looked the moment he awoke in this alien, hostile environment.

Funny, how such a tiny fragment of time could change everything.

Skye clenched her jaw, but she threw herself across the doorframe. To find Acketeer and live another day.

Newton's Wife turned her eerie face towards Roy. She hauled his chair back to the right position, and Roy felt his brain clang within his head.

"You've done this," she muttered.

He spat at her feet again. "I've done nothing. You brought this on yourselves."

She considered him. "Walter isn't even coming along to meet you anymore because of this compromise in our plan."

 _Compromised._

There was hope.

Roy let it pillage his doubts and fears.

Gunfire, scuffles, and screams peppered Roy's ears. He hated each sound, but it meant that there were people fighting for him, people coming to save him.

But then Newton's Wife, from behind her back, drew a gun.

Everything around Roy seemed to mute. His eyes strained to focus on anything else as she pressed the muzzle right onto his forehead. The air seemed to pressurise around him.

"That fool… always wanting our operations to be theatrical. And now that we have you, he won't even come along to finish you off. So," her green eyes burnt like Greek fire raged throughout her, "maybe I should just kill you right here. Myself."

He could feel the round, cool steel hole hard against his skin. It would leave a depression once she removed it – if she did. Sweat seemed to freeze on his joints, under his armpits, and an uncontrollable shudder ran along every bone in his body. Not even his mind could come up with anything to calm him down, letting the sudden anxiety spear through him with no end.

"P-Please," he said. "Don't."

"Why should I not, Roy?" she barked, spitting as she did. "Ultimately, we want your death. It's only Walter that wants it to be something more. A show of strength. But perhaps… ending you here, and now, is the ultimate strength of all."

Her finger danced over the trigger.

Tears plumed at Roy's eyelids.

So this was death.

He shut his eyes.

"Please," he said, even if it was the last words he spoke.

"If only you had listened before."

He heard the door blast open. Heard Newton's Wife scream.

Then a gunshot.

For a moment, Roy thought he could feel blood rolling down his forehead, drowning his lips, soaking his clothes, clinging to his bare feet. Collecting in his lungs, suffocating him.

But there was no pain. And there was no blood.

Roy opened his eyes. The world was blurred with his tears, and blood – but not his own. Newton's Wife lay on the ground. A bullet hole had opened right through the side of her head. Blood pooled around the entrance.

She was a corpse.

An officer in heavily padded armour marched to Roy. The gun in their hand fell to their holster, but Roy had already seen the smoke curl from the barrel.

"Sir! Are you all right?" Her voice echoed through the helmet. "Can you hear me?"

Roy could hardly believe it. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. His mouth couldn't conjure the words to express how relieved he was, how much he just wanted to sob and cry at the turn of events. He could only nod his head, and the officer worked on his bonds, finally freeing his bruised hands from the confines of the rickety chair.

"You're going to be all right, sir," said the officer.

Roy's eyes panned to Newton's Wife.

She was so still. Dead.

Something clenched through him. It could've been sick satisfaction. It could've been guilt. Roy couldn't attribute any one emotion to the turmoil within him; it seemed to have a mind of its own, roiling and raging like a supernova. As more officers exploded into the room, inspecting every inch of him, sweeping his body to search for wounds, shining torches in his eyes to check responses, letting him retch into a sick bag, Roy could only see an echo of that bullet tearing through the stale air, striking Newton's Wife.

He was alive.

And the woman who had terrorised him for this entire month… was dead.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy had never felt happier to be in the palace infirmary. The clean white walls and pristine furniture was total opposite to his prison in the rebels' underground facility, east of Angeles and deep into Sonage. It was calm and quiet, unlike the hustle of helicopter blades, slicing the wind, hurrying to airlift him and the assault team away.

No one bothered him here. At least, no strangers. At the facility, he was barraged with questions. _Are you all right? How do you feel? Can you talk about it?_

Roy was tired. He was hungry, bordering ravenous. Sleep called to him like a dangerous lullaby. He wanted to slumber and forget today, even if it had already hit noon by now. Even if the events had been imprinted into his memories, replaying each time he closed his eyes.

The doctors hadn't even let his parents see him. They'd checked everything. Performed every biological scan they could think of, to search for potential trackers or weapons implanted into him when he was under. They found nothing, and Roy might have considered it luck were it not for the ordeal.

The pillows had been fluffed and shoved behind him, allowing him to sit upright and stare mindlessly out of the window. Funnily enough, Alex was still recovering next door. Did he know what had happened?

Did the Selected?

A knock on the door peeled his thoughts away, and he didn't have the chance to ask who it was before Ji-Yu and Merrick walked in.

Both of their faces were red with tears.

"Oh, son," Ji-Yu said, clasping his hands.

Merrick went around the other side. It was clear he was holding in his terror, as he sniffled through a block nose. His arm looped around Roy and held tightly. "We were so worried."

"I'm okay," Roy said.

It tasted like a lie. Physically, he was fine – if anything, the scar from having his chip removed so haphazardly hurt, but… mentally…

He still felt that cold, hard steel on his forehead. Still felt the itch of Newton's Wife's trigger finger.

Ji-Yu squeezed his hands, before she let go and grabbed two chairs for herself and Merrick. Neither took their eyes off him, as if he might vanish in the space of a heartbeat.

Merrick thumbed one of Roy's hands. "I can't even imagine what it was like. A prisoner of war…"

 _Prisoner of war._ That's what he was, now. The war being the one-sided death of so many rebels, both when they'd reclaimed Barney and himself today. Roy sat back into the cushions, staring at the ceiling.

"No one else was hurt?" he said. _Durante._ He'd put up a fight for sure. "Is my bodyguard okay?"

Ji-Yu reached for his hand again, rolling the pads of her fingers on his knuckles. "Bruised, but well. Patrol found him and the state of your bedroom, and reported it immediately," she said. "It was just a matter of accessing your tracking implant and deciding when best to strike."

It had been a risky play, but worth it. If they'd been any slower, if they hadn't burst into the room when they had… a bullet might've gone through his own head, and not Newton's Wife's.

"What about Skye? And Acketeer?"

"Escaped," Merrick said – it seem to rush free from him before he could help it, and he hurried to add. "We're working to find them as fast as we can. They'll be apprehended soon enough. Don't worry."

He palmed Roy's hand and squeezed – less with reassurance, more with regret. "I can't believe there was a rebel spy amongst your Selected. It's… despicable."

Despicable. Right. Roy glanced at Ji-Yu – her face was unreadable, which usually meant she had something to hide, he'd learnt. Still, she said nothing on the matter.

"Let's not talk anymore about this," she said. "I don't want to… to worry you, any further."

It had come with a realisation though.

The spy was outed. She wasn't here anymore.

His Selection was clear of a spy. He was finally free to search for a girlfriend – a _wife_ – without worrying about the repercussions. Without worrying about breaking his heart.

It lifted some of the stress from him, and for the first time today, he smiled.

"I like that idea," he said. He didn't want to worry further, either.

A little knock drew their attention to the door.

"Who is it?" Merrick asked.

" _Appa?"_ came the little voice.

Gail.

Oh, god, _Gail._ The rebels… Skye… near _Gail._ Tears surfaced in his eyes again as Ji-Yu opened the door. She was dressed in her fairy outfit, with the tiara and the gossamer wings, and clutched in her hand was the star wand with the pink ribbons floating off.

Roy doubted she knew what had happened, but she seemed to recognise the mood in the room.

" _Omma,_ " she said, "can I sit with Roooooy?"

Ji-Yu gave Roy a look first, and he nodded, so she swept Gail up and plonked her on the other end of the bed. Her head canted as she stared at Roy, her glassy eyes fixated on his own. But she grinned blithely, crawled forwards, and used her dress sleeve to wipe his tears away.

"Get better!" she ordered. "My fairy magic says so!"

He burst into laughter at that, and pulled her into a hug. She smelt like baby wipes and blueberries, and he could only guess she had been stuffing herself with too much jam toast.

"Thanks, rascal," he said. "I will."

She pulled away and giggled. Then, she plucked her tiara off and plopped it onto Roy's head. "You can be Fairy Sparkle Princess Roy if you want, today."

Roy's heart could have melted within him, and he lifted his hands to feel the rigid edges of the fake encrusted gems. It was one of Gail's current most prized possessions, and for her to give it to him so easily gave him hope for Gail in future.

Perhaps that system that Skye talked about… perhaps it could change. Perhaps _he_ could change.

He put the thought aside and laughed again. "You know, it would be a nice not being the bad guy this time." He plucked her wand and waved it. "I will defeat evil with my glitter magic!"

"Yay!" said Gail, and she reached for Merrick. "My wings are still mine though!"

Merrick swept her up and stood, zooming through the room making plane noises. "Off we go to defeat our next enemy!"

Gail splayed her arms. "Yay!"

Merrick ran out of the room, still making the ridiculous plane noises and spitting everywhere. Ji-Yu placed a hand on her mouth to stifle her laugh, but Roy could see the dimples on her cheeks creasing.

With the door open, she placed her hand on Roy's leg. "Would you like me to stay?"

He shook his head. "No, it's all right. I think I'll just take a nap."

She nodded. "Okay. Ask the nurse if you want me, son." Her breath exhaled. "But for now… rest. We can talk about… you know what, another day."

It was just a relief to have it off his chest. Ji-Yu remained still for a few more moments before heading out and closing the door behind him.

Roy sank into pillows and tucked the duvet around him. It was hard not to think of all that had happened up to this point, but it played like a cinematic reel in his mind. Decisions that could have changed everything, moments he'd once been protective over, shattering like pieces of frosted glass.

But it was history now. And Roy knew, he should allow himself this pause to rest, to take the day to recover.

And tomorrow, he'd return, stronger than ever.

* * *

 **A/N:** All's well that ends well... for now... Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Sorry for the dark tone as well, but I feel it would've been disingenuous for me to gloss over how harrowing the experience would be. Roy won't immediately perk back up, but I'll keep it light-hearted as much as possible.

Just want to apologise for the wait, and apologise in advance for however long the next chapter might be. The muse has disappeared, and I'm expending all my writing energy right now revising my novel. My hands are full with rl duties too. That and the new Magnus Chase was released and my fingers keep itching to writing stories for that lol.

I still haven't finished my outline either; at the moment it's a mishmash of plot points and ideas and shippy moments (heh) that I'm not sure how to _order,_ y'know? I'd really like to finish that and my novel rewrite before finally tackling another chapter. Not gonna' call it the dreaded h-word because that panics people, but I will say I'm taking a wee break from tsts for now. I'll post all updates on Pinterest or my profile so if I have any news, you can find it there.

Thanks so much for your understanding and patience everyone! You're all the reason I keep wanting to write this. It's so much fun to read all your reactions and theories (and to troll you with cliffhangers... fufufu...). Please leave a review/ favourite/ follow if you'd like! Thanks for reading!

In the mean time, consider... what is next for Roy and co.?

~ GWA


	43. On the Border

**A/N:** Surprise! And merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and happy holidays to all that don't! I thought since I needed a chapter out before I could write more that I'd give you all a look into what's to come.

Roy mostly sums up what has happened in this chapter, but in case you've forgotten, here's a quick summary of the latest shenanigans:

Roy had a Day of Dates with Selected Delia Colestrist, Regina Landowski, and Skylar Davenport to weed out the spy, but none cropped up as suspicious. Unfortunately, it's interrupted with the news that Prince Barney of the United Kingdom Commonwealth has been caught with Selected Alisa Orlov. Barney is sentenced to a whipping, but on the day, his twin brother Prince Alex takes his place. The rebels, intending to kidnap Alex for bargain, end up capturing Barney instead. Nonetheless, Roy frees him, nearly caving to the demand of Newton's Wife, but that evening he _himself_ is captured by rebels. Skylar Davenport was the spy, and Newton's Wife was her mother! He's eventually rescued, but only after a harrowing experience with a gun to his forehead...

* * *

The studio spotlights danced and wavered uncertainly before settling on Roy and Romilda, but despite the brightness, causing Roy to squint, it felt darker than any midnight sky.

He'd been discharged yesterday from the infirmary. Everyone had showered him with sympathy and remorse since, which he was grateful for, but it didn't help that little illusion, as black as coal, repeating the same scenario over and over.

Gun to forehead. Newton's Wife, holding the trigger. Him, helpless to do anything about it.

Romilda reached over a placed a slender hand on his knee, and it jerked him from his thoughts.

"We don't have to do this now, you know. It's only Monday. We can film another day. Maybe after this week's Report," she said, effortlessly smooth in delivery. "The public can wait."

Roy exhaled a long breath. No, there was no way he'd let his own head beat him here. "I want to do this now," he said. "The public need to know what happened. I'm reading off a prompter." He smiled at her. "I'll be fine."

She twisted her lips, probably not believing him, but sat back into her gilded armchair. "Okay. But if it becomes too much, just say something, and we'll take a break."

It was strange, having this dark cloud permanently hang over him. Of course, something as harrowing as the hostage situation he underwent _would_ haunt him, _would_ mess with his thoughts and dreams, but Roy had never expected it to be so profound. Worm its way into everything he did.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded at the producer. "Ready."

They rolled the teleprompter. The lights seemed to brighten. Crew dashed about, holding clipboards and drinks. The _ON AIR_ light flashed on over the door, and Romilda drew her most dazzling smile on Roy.

"Thank you for agreeing to do this interview, Prince Roy. I understand how hard it must be for you."

 _Relax._ "Thanks, Romilda." Normally, he'd insert some silly pun or joke to lighten the mood, but not even Roy felt up to it. "Yeah, being a war prisoner… it's… not something I'd wish on anyone, not even my biggest enemy."

"Let's start from the beginning," Romilda said. She adjusted her afro, her muted, grey dress. "Can you talk us through Skylar Davenport?"

 _Skye._ That name. It spun and spun like a wheel pushing against gravel. Thinking of her face, of her ideals, her secrets and lies pulled a chord on his heart. Dr Nagi had instructed him not to hide his emotions; for something like this, not only was it necessary for Illéa to know how terrible the experience was, but also not to normalise the bottling of his feelings.

So he shuddered. Shut his eyes. Took his time before opening them again and following the prompter.

"Skylar Davenport, representing Ottaro in my Selection, was really an undercover spy for the Southern Rebels," he said. "She'd taken advantage of her unique circumstances to report back with information about myself, my family, and my country to the rebels, and use it for their needs. This included my…" _Deep breath._ "My kidnapping."

"Indeed," said Romilda. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

"I'm lucky to be alive," he said, facing Romilda. "Had it not been for our excellent response units and police forces, I wouldn't be sitting here today. So for that, I want to thank all the people who aided me, despite knowing the risks."

"I think I speak for the entirety of Illéa that we're grateful for the help of our emergency services." Romilda was smiling now. "How did manage to enter the Selection?"

"All our Selection candidates undergo an extensive background check, and the rebels were able to either trick our system or bypass it entirely." He clasped his hands together and turned to the camera. "Please don't worry, though. We've since implemented new security measures to ensure this doesn't happen again."

Too late for him now, but if there was a chance Gail was having a Selection, and the rebels hadn't been eradicated by then, at least she was safer.

Romilda nodded in a pensive way. "Did you know she was a rebel spy?"

Whoa. Wait. He hadn't expected this question. Heat slid up to his cheeks, but he still smiled and tried to appear genuine. "I didn't." Technically, it wasn't a lie.

"We weren't even aware there was a spy amongst the Selected ranks," she said.

It was more difficult to keep smiling now. "No, myself neither. It…" he rolled his lips, ignoring the prompter, "it hurt. A lot. Like a physical wound, when I discovered she was working against me. It flips your entire world realising that someone you have come to care about, doesn't care— _never_ cared about you. In that room where I was held captive, just seeing her on the other side with a different demeanour… it was a bigger shock than actually being kidnapped."

He didn't even want to think about it, but the memories summoned themselves.

"But you're out now. You're safe now," Romilda said, and it was a more personal smile, just for him, like the whole world wasn't going to watch. "How are you dealing with the aftermath?"

Roy was still in that period where he just didn't know how to think. That darkness, that wave of betrayal, still lapped inside him. He wasn't even sure he'd processed everything correctly.

Dr Nagi had warned him about the long-term mental effects things like this could cause – mainly PTSD. How did he feel? Did he have PTSD? The palace was a comfort, but there was a shard of him still on edge, still expecting a rebel to burst out from behind a door and place that gun back against his head.

"I'm… dealing with it," he said eventually. "My own way. Slowly. I think… I think I need more time. I may not bounce back immediately, for the sake of my health, but I do care, and I am always willing to help whenever I can." _Ease your shoulders._ "My Selection, however, will continue. Rebel activity shouldn't prevent me from searching for someone to spend my future with. I will continue to act as prince of our great nation as well, and my family and I are doing all we can to combat the rebels. This won't stop me."

"That's good," said Romilda. "Good. I'm proud of you, Prince Roy."

That wasn't in the prompter. That heat rose to his cheeks for a new reason and he grinned, feeling more silly than he had in days. "Thanks, Romilda."

Talking about it had made him feel better. Romilda closed off the piece, reminding everyone that Skye had a bounty on her head, that each Davenport Sports Resort was closed and undergoing investigation, and the lights returned to normal. Crew bustled about and the footage was sent to editing to be hacked and chopped in whichever way drew out the most sympathy. Roy just hoped he'd got the message across.

The rebels were dangerous, and not even being a prince had spared him.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy took a late lunch in his room that day, wanting to relax without worrying about his appearance, but had asked if Rudy would join him, not wanting to be completely alone, either. Of course, Rudy had obliged, and however improper it was, Roy ate a chicken and mushroom pie on a tray on his bed, shovelling the food in as Rudy sat by his desk.

"Please don't get crumbs on your bedsheets," he said.

The good thing about Rudy was he acted as if nothing had happened, and although Roy appreciated the kind words and thoughts from others, it was nice not to have to confront himself with the situation all the time.

He waved his fork around, a piece of chicken skewered onto the end. "But I'm the prince."

"And I'm the valet." Rudy said, echoing the meaninglessness of Roy's words. "No crumbs."

"What if I introduce a new law saying Crown Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave _can_ have crumbs on his bed?"

"Rudy Diederik Bezuidenhout-Leeuwenhoek will personally lead the town hall against it."

Roy sniffled dramatically. "Yeah, well, I'm the prince. I do what I want and I want what I do." Roy paused. "Wait, that came out wrong—"

A knock sliced their conversation in half. Rudy got up, eyeing Roy as he ate the pie, and opened the door. It was a butler – one of the British ones – who bowed to them both.

"Good afternoon, sirs," he began. "Apologies for the interruption. The Princes Alexander and Barnabas would kindly ask for your presence in the theatre room."

The theatre room? What did they even want in there?

"Why?" Roy asked.

The butler's lips thinned. "Something about business, Your Highness."

Great. Couldn't even eat food without someone wanting something from him. Merrick and Ji-Yu had ordered that he take a few days, maybe even a few weeks to rest, for his body and his mind, but Roy supposed his cousins required something off him before they left for the United Kingdom Commonwealth that evening.

Rudy rubbed his temple. "Thank you for the message. His Highness will be along" – he turned to Roy, frowning at the chicken pie – "shortly." The butler left, and Rudy shut the door. "I thought there was a strict recuperation period for you?"

Roy shrugged. "I don't know what they want. Probably just need my signature or something."

"In the theatre room?"

Roy shrugged again.

Rudy frowned. "Well, we don't want to keep them waiting, I suppose."

Roy ate the rest of his food at speed – extremely careful to aim wild crumbs onto the tray – and headed towards the theatre room with Rudy in tow. He was surprised to see a number of guards outside, but they didn't hesitate to let him in.

The theatre room was the palace's own personal cinema. Lights dimmed, a huge screen thrice Roy's height stole an entire wall at the back, and plush red velvet seats were perched in elevated rows towards him. Except, in the middle section, the seats had been replaced with sofas, plump cushions and thick, fluffy blankets.

And all his Selected were there.

Huddled together in pyjamas, make-up free, clutching hot water bottles or teddy bears, his Selected smiled with big, grinning faces. Sherlock's hair was curlier than normal, sticking out in all directions like she'd just had a nap. Avianna had a bottle of wine in hand, with a few glasses filled to the brim on the nearby coffee table. Even Luna had joined in, drenched in a cashmere dressing gown and her hair in a silk scarf.

"What… what's all this?" Roy said.

"You're welcome."

Katrina stepped out from the ranks. The weirdest change was seeing her completely make-up free, hair loose, pyjama shorts and bra hugging her figure.

He instantly froze up. "For what?"

"What do you mean, for what? You go through hell and you don't think any of us are going to notice?" She crossed her arms. "Remember we had a slumber party a few weeks ago, without you, at your weird _ignore-my-duties_ party?"

"I've been trying to forget it, but yes…?"

"Well, you seemed pretty irritated that you didn't get an invite to that one, and now all this has happened, so we thought we'd throw one for you. A daytime slumber party." She tutted. "And you're not even in sleepwear."

The sheer kindness of the gesture made him want to tear up. But he wouldn't, probably out of stubbornness. And because it was Katrina, and he didn't like the idea of being comforted by her.

"Wow, I… thank you."

She jerked her head. "It was their idea."

He turned to the side to see Alex leant against the wall, Barney still in his wheelchair, both dressed in pyjamas – silky, deep blue button down shirts and trousers. Alisa was standing next to Barney, their hands intertwined, wearing a cotton nightdress with a bunny pattern, hair still unfalteringly coiled into a bun.

"Our last hurrah," said Barney, "before we leave later today."

Alex's face was trying hard to resist portraying any sympathy, but failing miserably. "Better to start adjusting to our time zone, anyway."

Now Roy really wanted to tear up. Even when it seemed the world was folding in on itself, he knew he could rely on these people.

No spies. No rivalries. Just him and his friends and family.

"Thanks, everyone," he said, hoping he could portray just how appreciative he actually felt with a small smile.

"Now pick a movie!" Maeve yelled. Her hoodie and sweatpants were lined with fleece. "We have some fantasy adventure, the Harry Potters, some action ones—"

"No action," said Roy. "Something cheesy and mushy. What's a classic we can all watch?"

"The Princess Diaries!" yelled Regina with gusto. "Because we're all Mia Thermopolis!" The other girls cheered with agreement.

"Really? The Princess Diaries?" said Alex, crossing his arms. "Barnabas and I can only watch one film before we must leave, and you're going to choose the Prin—"

There was a riot after that – Barney laughed the entire time as Alex was forced to stay put on a sofa by the self-proclaimed Princess Diaries Defence Squad, a teasingly angry Regina, Avianna and Maeve. It appeared at some point, Alex had made his peace with the Selected girls, enough so that they were giggling and chatting with him like he was always part of their misfit family. No doubt, Alisa and Barney helped him to integrate, now that he was on good terms with Roy.

It was… comforting to see.

Rudy and the other staff helped to sort snacks and drinks, whilst Roy went to change into some appropriate pyjamas (with a shirt), and made himself comfortable in a nest of blankets, cushions, pillows and soft toys. He'd wanted to spend his day curled up in his room, watching sitcoms and generally trying to wind down, but somehow this felt like a better use of his time. More easing to his weary soul.

He didn't miss the roll of unease as the Selected chose who sat immediately around him, and most importantly, to his left, sharing the sofa. Somehow it had ended up in Ferelith Riverly's possession; she withdrew herself so she only took half a cushion, and curled up with a blanket and mug of hot chocolate. Meanwhile, Avianna and Lilly were by his feet.

Lights dimmed. The film rolled. Roy acquired a large box of sweet popcorn from the buffet table and dove in, careful not to drop crumbs everywhere (because, hell, Rudy would probably laser him for it later). Ferelith was like a rock next to him, but it seemed she was intently watching the film.

"Hey, Ferelith," Roy whispered, offering the bucket. "Popcorn?"

She startled and turned to face him, red-faced, eyes glued to the ground. "Oh, e-erm, thank you. Yes."

She scooped and handful and snatched her hand back, sliding each piece of popcorn into her mouth with agonisingly slowness.

Nervous, as usual. Ferelith and he hadn't talked very much this Selection – even Ambrosia, who was probably just as shy, had made some sort of an effort. It didn't deter him, though, and he flashed her a grin.

"Have you seen the entire trilogy?"

Startled again, she faced him. "Trilogy?"

"Yeah. The Princess Diaries 1, 2 and 3," he said. "3 is my favourite, personally."

"Oh, yes. I've seen them all."

She clasped her hands together, but said no more. If she couldn't deal with conversation with him when a film was on, he wasn't sure face-to-face was going to work either. They'd danced before, but he could only guess she'd had as much to drink as he had.

Tucking this information away, Roy tuned his attention back to the screen, but left the bucket between them so she could take more.

She didn't.

The film ended and the girls stretched and went for toilet breaks. Roy got up to refill the popcorn at the buffet table.

Alex pushed Barney with him to Roy. Alex looked more enlightened than before, arms crossed, face creased like he was trying hard to admit he enjoyed the film.

"I suppose that was… entertaining."

"Pffft," said Roy. "You loved it."

"Too many plot holes."

Barney rolled his eyes. "The biggest plot hole here is the fact that you grinned when Clarissa made up the _Order of the Rose_ thing, and now you're saying you didn't enjoy it." He snagged some popcorn and swallowed quickly. "I'll bet you'll be watching the second and third films on the plane home."

Had it really been a month? The Bonfire Ball seemed so far away, in time and emotional distance. He'd hated Alex and Barney then, whereas now it had become a sort of friendly rivalry. Back then, half his Selected were still here. He hadn't known who the spy was.

It wrung his gut slightly, and he shoved the thought away.

"When are you scheduled to leave?"

"Soon," said Barney. "Not enough time to start the Princess Diaries 2, to Alex's chagrin."

Alex went bright red. "Regardless of what I say, you'll think I enjoyed it in any capacity. I cannot win." He waved away his brother's attempt to speak. "In any case, we should be going now to finalise the last details. We just wanted to wish you luck with your Selection."

"I'll escort you to the door—"

Alex held up his hand. "No, you'll not. You're going to stay and relax. God only knows you need it."

It warmed Roy's core, but he still couldn't help a chuckle.

"Concern? For _me?_ The Princess Diaries _has_ turned you soft."

Alex smirked, but didn't deign to retort. Instead, Barney rubbed his neck.

"I'm still sorry I, er, caused such a fuss, with your Selection. Alisa needs to prepare her things too, since we're dropping her to Whites on the way. We're planning to write to one another until we can see each other again."

"Writing? You live in the stone ages?" Roy said, grinning.

This time, Barney went red. "I-It's romantic."

"It's grotesquely cliché," said Alex. But his expression softened to a quiet admiration. "It's been an adventure here, Roy. I'm glad to put the past behind us."

He held out a hand.

Another gesture that chipped a little shard of Roy's nervous energy, letting it fall into an abyss. Just being around good people seemed to be something he'd taken from granted until a few days ago.

He took Alex's hand and shook. "Me too."

Barney offered a hug, not a handshake, and pulled Alex in too, until they were a squishy pile of princes, laughing about everything and nothing. It flecked away more of the grey piling in Roy's chest.

"I look forward to seeing your Elite choices, as well," said Alex, once they'd extricated themselves from the embrace. "I'm sure that will make better entertainment than the Princess Diaries."

All that goodness drained from him, a stone dropping in Roy's gut. _His Elite._ He'd completely forgotten he had to cut them down to the crucial ten. He spared a glance at the twelve remaining girls, each hustling and bustling to prepare for the next three hours bingeing the series. They were becoming his family, too, in another strange way. How was he supposed to choose? Which ones did his heart call to, and which ones did he keep only for superficial means?

"Oh, yeah, thanks," he said absently, suddenly overridden with worry. "Soon."

"We'll keep up-to-date with your Selection," Barney promised. "I'll have the Report streamed in Buckingham if I can."

Alisa came over to hug him as well, all four sharing one last moment before they said their goodbyes to the Selected and left the hall together. Roy probably wouldn't see them again for a long time – at least, it could be years before Alex and Barney came back over, or vice versa, and who knew whether Alisa was going to stay in the country, with her lover residing in England. She certainly wasn't coming back to Angeles any time soon, now that she'd been banished.

He trailed back to the sofa somewhat disheartened. Because he'd hated them so much, Roy hadn't realised how useful an earpiece Alex and Barney were – boys his age, able to provide blunt, unbiased opinions when necessary from the point of view of future rulers. Now they were leaving. Alisa, too.

The girls had switched places. Camilla was on the sofa now – perturbed, but not shy, able to talk to Roy at least. But all Roy could think about were his Elite, and the decisions he had to make.

He'd used the Board for the spy. Even though it had done its duty, perhaps he could repurpose it? Help him visualise who he wanted to keep, and who he wanted to go.

It wasn't as harrowing as the spy, but it was a decision that was going to affect his future, and the entire future of his country.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy and the Selected blitzed through the next two Princess Diaries films before Sashi summoned them for dinner. Too full of junk food and sweets, they all took half-dinners together in the theatre room before dispersing for the evening.

When Roy returned to his room, he was surprised to see the door open. Officer Durante was standing outside, shifting between feet awkwardly as he usually did, but his attention was inside.

"What's going on?" Roy asked.

Durante only frowned and jerked his chin inside. "Rudy, er, has refused help in disposal of the Board."

However Rudy had got the Board inside, it clearly hadn't prepared him to take it back out again. It was probably the length of his arm span, and then some, yet he struggled to hold both ends and shuffle his way out of the door. Pins and felt and Persephone's face littered onto the carpet. Strands of his red hair had freed themselves from his ponytail and flopped uselessly over the canvas.

"I can do this," he wheezed.

Roy's insides clenched as he spoke. "Er, actually, I wanted to keep it."

Rudy froze. Roy couldn't see his face with the Board in the way, but he could imagine the look of murder. "Pardon." It didn't even sound like a question.

"Yeah. To keep it, so I can help choose my… my Elite." It shivered along his tongue, that word. "I mean, it helped keep track of our spy evidence. Why not help me keep track of who I want to marry?"

"I feel it's a little different in principle," said Rudy, but he sighed and dropped the Board anyway, leaning the long side against his thighs. Sweat lashed his brow. "I do wish you'd have let me know beforehand."

"Sorry," Roy said.

"Now I have to put it back up again."

Durante tilted his head. "Would you like some help?"

"No, thank you."

And he plucked the Board up and marched back into the bathroom.

Roy still wasn't quite sure what was happening on the Durudy front. He prodded and teased, Rudy more than Durante, but only Durante seemed like he wanted to _do_ something about it. Rudy, on the other hand, was comfortable in their awkward limbo state. Comfortable to leave everything unsaid and nothing accomplished.

Durante patted his cropped hair like he meant to run a hand through. "Okay," he said. Roy felt a twinge of sorrow for him, but he knew, and he knew that Durante knew, it wasn't good to push Rudy into anything.

Then again, it wasn't fair to leave Durante in a perpetual state of waiting either.

"I'll leave you to it," he said, bowing his head reverently and standing to attention.

Guilt trickled down Roy's spine, but he shut the door anyway and followed Rudy into the bathroom, picking up the rogue crafts on the way.

His bathroom was cleaned, the tiles shimmering like they'd been painted with diamond dust. New towels, fresh lavender smell, a gleaming showerhead and bathtub. Neither the Board divider nor the hooks on the walls had been removed yet, so it was a simple measure for Rudy to hang the Board back up. Skye, he noticed, had been completely removed, a blank spot where her picture was like she'd been burned from a family tree.

"I need help. I could use some outside opinions." He took a deep breath. "How am I supposed to choose who to eliminate?"

They replaced the runaway string and matter and took a step back to look.

"Eliminate whomever you lack connection with," said Rudy, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"I don't think I lack connection with any of them," Roy said. "I've already eliminated all those girls."

"You need to think deeper than just initial chemistry and attraction. Who of these girls can you stand to be around?"

"You make it sound like it's a chore."

"That's not what I mean," Rudy said. "Love isn't simply a feeling. It is commitment. You must be committed to whomever you choose to spend your life with."

Roy grinned and lowered his voice. "Ironic coming from you, Aesop."

Rudy shot him a look of resignation, but rolled his lips in thought nonetheless. "I never said I happened to be _good_ at" – he flung out his hands – "love and commitment. I'm still… dealing with my feelings and the conflict I feel. It's long and, quite frankly, irritating, but I'm dealing with them nonetheless." He turned sharply to Roy. "But this isn't about me, and I only know that you're trying to _make_ it about me so that, one, you can avoid making the difficult decisions yourself, and two, because you get a kick out of it."

"… I mean, it _is_ hilarious that you and Durante are so awkward around each other."

Rudy sighed. "I'm glad someone finds it amusing." His eyes had taken on a more serious glimmer. "Listen, Roy. I'm neither saying that whomever you choose in your Selection will be permanent, nor that it will end in a fairy tale. Some of your ancestors had Selections that ended in misery, some with perfection. But it is a chance, and you should take it."

Roy bit his lip and looked at the Board again. Twelve gleaming faces smiled back at him, each unique in their own way.

"And what if I make the wrong choice? If I make a mistake? This doesn't just affect me, but the whole country. Everyone is watching."

Rudy actually chuckled. "I know you adore your spiel about being _the prince,_ but you're still a _human_ too, and making mistakes is a natural, human thing. Don't forget that."

It alleviated more of that grey cloud, hovering over Roy's heart.

"So." Rudy patted Roy's shoulder. "Think hard about which Selectee you want to eliminate. Maybe sleep on it. There's no rush, and you have plenty of time, but when you come to a decision, make sure you're confident in it."

Roy inhaled a deep breath. "Thanks, Rudy."

"Of course."

Rudy padded out the door, leaving Roy to his thoughts. And the Board.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

On Friday, with the Report to start at any moment, Roy rushed into the studio again.

He'd dressed in a navy suit and tie, trimmed his hair, freshened his look. The make-up artists hastily painted him to cover the rogue acne spots, cuts and imperfections so that he was camera ready, him having taken the rest of the week off and ignoring his appearance for the most part.

But a restless energy within him had started to coax him recently to return to regular schedule, and being spotted live on the Capital Report was a good step forwards.

He hustled onto the bleachers to join Ji-Yu, and Gail, who was sitting on Ji-Yu's lap and playing with a lock of her hair. She grinned, her teeth catching the glint of the light.

"Roooooy," she whispered. "You're late!"

Ji-Yu had graced them with a dark green _hanbok_ this time, the folds crisp and the fabric creaseless. Her hair seemed like it was grey peppered with black now, not the other way around, but she didn't complain even as Gail tugged and fussed with a lock of it.

"You did nearly miss the start," she said, her chide laced with a thread of softness.

Still going easy on him.

"Sorry," Roy said, "Just had something to do."

Merrick was on the platform with Romilda. Obviously, they had some prefacing to do before Roy's interview aired.

"Nervous?" asked Ji-Yu.

Roy swallowed, frowning. "A little."

"Don't be sad," piped Gail. "Because _sad_ backwards is _das,_ and _das_ not good."

Both Roy and Ji-Yu whipped to look at her. "What?" said Ji-Yu.

"Sherlock taught that to me!"

Roy cast a glance to the Selected, on their own separate bleachers. Sherlock was conversing in whispers with Maeve and Avianna. Yep, that sounded like a Sherlock thing to do.

Ji-Yu made an amused face. "I… have nothing to say to that, to be honest."

"Seconded," said Roy, and there was a smile on his face, too.

The lights dimmed and the people hushed. Romilda swept towards the camera with her usual grace, opening the show after the Illéan anthem boomed throughout the studio. Roy tuned most of it out, a fresh bout of nerves taking root in his body as she and Merrick discussed the rebels, the spy, and the betrayals.

Then Roy's interview aired.

He went stiff, like he could feel all eyes on him. His Selected, mostly – he could see out his peripheral vision that some had snuck him a glance when they should have been watching the screens. It was so sweet to see them pained for him, and he felt another bout of conflict warring in his gut.

Even Merrick was teary when the interview finished. He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief he'd kept in the pocket of his black suit. Blond hair still couldn't hide the sheer number of greys that shined through like moonlight.

Both he and Ji-Yu always regaled everyone with their brevity, their grace and elegance, but the last few days had taken a toll on them, too. Stressed both them out to breaking, to the point where it began to affect them physically. Showing in their hair like scars on a face.

"Apologies, Romilda," said Merrick as he wiped the last tears. "I've seen this interview three times already, yet… it still haunts me, every time."

"Of course, that's understandable," said Romilda. "Anyone would fear for their children undergoing something like this."

"I can't imagine how Roy feels," he said, and it was earnest. "What bravery he has to go through that and still come here tonight."

Romilda smiled, turning to face Roy with twinkling eyes. "Absolutely. I think it deserves a round of applause."

The audience delivered. His Selected stood up and whooped and cheered, banging their heels against the steel bleachers. It may have been because he was next to her, but Gail clapped the loudest, chanting, "Yay Roy!" into the noise, and it brought another wave of tears to his eyes.

No. No time to be teary tonight.

When the applause died down, Romilda turned back to the camera. "And that concludes tonight's Capital Report. I hope this will give everyone a time to reflect—"

Roy stood up before he knew what he was doing. "Wait!"

Dead silence. Merrick and Romilda turned to him, both alarmed. Ji-Yu whispered, "What are you doing?" at the same time Gail said, "Princesses do not yell in the palace!"

Roy gulped. Nope, he couldn't stop now. The train had left the station.

"I-I want to make an announcement."

Maybe doing this spontaneously was a bad idea. But now felt right.

"An announcement?" said Merrick. "About what?"

Roy collected his fading strength and proclaimed, "Today, I'm going to cut down my Selected to the Elite."

He heard the sharp gasp from his Selected, from the rest of the assembled court in the audience. From even his own parents. No one had expected this tonight.

To be honest, Roy hadn't planned to make the decision now, either, but it was time for him to move on from the unfortunate circumstances he'd been placed in, and making that one crucial decision of whittling his Selected to his Elite was going to help do that.

He squared his chest, his shoulders, his poise, and marched down to the dais. Merrick had stood and let him take his place, petting his shoulder with a smile on the way passed. The lights trained onto him.

Romilda still couldn't hold her surprise. "Here? Now?"

He nodded. "Yep. Here and now."

She laughed. "Did you plan to tell anyone else?"

"Nope," said Roy, flashing them a grin. "I've been… juggling the decision for a few days now, and I wasn't intending to announce my Elite tonight so I could mull it over for another week, but… I'm confident with my choices."

Another rush of adrenaline bowled through him when he looked at his Selected, soon to be his Elite. Even as the lights weren't settled on them, they'd become pale with anticipation.

Roy cleared his throat and turned to the camera, hoping the girls would forgive him for dropping it so suddenly.

"I've been worrying for a while about choosing my Elite. I wanted to make the right choices for myself and for you, Illéa, and I still do, but I always have to remind myself: it is _my_ heart I'm giving away, and I only have one to give. No one knows who I've chosen to stay, that I was even close to making that decision in the first place, and that's for the best.

"It's been a… difficult time for me, and I'm still recovering, but," he turned to the Selected girls, "please know that I cherish each and every one of you, regardless of my decision today. You've all been so kind, so generous with your time and energy, and I hope with those who are leaving us this evening, that I can still consider you my friends, and those who are staying, that we can build stronger relationships moving forwards.

"A wise friend said to me that love is commitment." Roy could feel Rudy smile, somewhere in the shadows of the studio. "I hope this is proof that I am committed to you, to this Selection, to myself and my health, and to this country."

Roy checked his nerves and turned back to the camera. "So, without further ado, and in no particular order, I will now present the ladies that I would like to remain here as my Elite."

A hush fell, tense, brittle. A cord made of hardened sugar, sweet but easy to snap. Roy held the cards, and it was a weird sensation to be back in that limelight again. That all of Illéa's anticipation was resting on his words.

Strange, but… familiar. Like it was almost a normal Selection.

Roy smiled. He felt… good. Guilty for severing ties like this, but still better and lighter.

"Lady Camilla Daugherty of Belcourt, Lady Luna Bellini-Torres of Calgary, and Lady Avianna DeLaurence of Allens, congratulations."

He saw Avianna gasp and squeal of the screen as the cameras popped around to focus between her, Luna and Camilla. Luna actually dropped her mouth open, and Camilla was intensely blinking like she thought she might have heard incorrectly. Happy, but tense faces from the other girls.

"Lady Ambrosia Nichols of Sota, Lady Elise Belmont of Hansport, and Lady Regina Landowski of Bankston, congratulations."

Ambrosia went absolutely still. Meanwhile, Elise and Regina, who happened to be sitting next to each other, exchanged ever-growing grins.

"Finally, Lady Lilly Carter of Kent, Lady Sherlock Graves of Carolina, Lady Maeve Reynolds of Paloma and Lady Delia Colestrist of Columbia, congratulations."

Eulalia hopped up and down out of camera view, translating furiously to Lilly, who was sitting on the lowest tier. Her eyes became saucers. Sherlock and Maeve high-fived and Delia palmed her cheeks in surprise.

He dared search for the last two faces. Persephone, wilting like her namesake's flowers, but still smiling. And Ferelith…

Tears sprung into her eyes.

The cameras lasered in on them both, to his dismay, and he forced himself to ignore their swelled disappointment on the screen and instead face the camera.

"Thank you so much for tuning in to the Capital Report this evening. I hope this allows you the chance to reflect, and I hope you're looking forward to how the Elite and I progress as much as I am. Goodnight."

And the _ON AIR_ light flashed off.

* * *

 **A/N:** So the Elite have been announced! If the girl you're rooting for made it, or a girl you submitted, congrats! And if not, I'm sorry! I had such a difficult time choosing between some that I had to throw in the towel and give the choice to the public, lol. You'll find out next chapter why Seph and Ferelith were eliminated. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!

Many thanks to **Canadaorbust** for Alisa Orlov! Honestly, it's because you put at the end of Alisa's form that you weren't bothered about who Alisa ended up with that I came up with the idea for arrogant twin prince cousins of Roy's to come over and make mayhem, so thank you for that! I hope you're all right with how Alisa ended up – it's not Roy, but hey, prince of England ain't too bad. :P

 **I have a new poll on my profile** concerning le plot that I'd love you to answer, since I can't write the next chapter without it!

As for the update schedule: this isn't a firm return to weekly. I've done a massive chunk of the outline, enough that I can write comfortably for the next few chapters, but I have some kinks to work out. Sooooo, I'm hoping to have a new chapter in mid/ late January some time, and by then we'll see how we go!

Once again, have a merry Christmas and happy holidays! Thank you for your kindness and never-ending patience, and most importantly, thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Next Time Teaser: "It was getting so close to the end. To finding the One."

 **Edit 7th February 2018:** I completely forgot Barney had been shot. Awks. Corrected the chapter to reflect this.


	44. The Elite

Persephone and Ferelith were waiting for Roy when he finally freed himself from the studio. Sashi had quickly taken over after his announcement had ended, and the remaining Selected girls – the Elite – were sent to wait in the Women's Room, where he would greet and congratulate them afterwards.

But now… the difficult part.

Persephone clasped her hands together, lumbering by the doorway and lacking her usual coolness. Red hair pinned neatly upon her head, her gaze focused on Roy when he shut the door behind him, back into the warm glow of the chandeliers above.

He did feel bad about eliminating her, but he had his reasons.

"Roy, er," she said, for once sounding as nonplussed as she looked. "Hi. Over here."

In stark contrast, Ferelith was bent slightly in frame, wringing her hands together when they weren't attempting to wipe the tears from her face. It rolled a wave of guilt in him, massaging it deep into his bones. Making a girl _cry_ was a new low.

But she didn't say anything when he approached.

"I'm sorry," he started, thinking back to what he'd rehearsed. "It's nothing personal, honestly—"

"Don't worry about it," said Persephone quickly. "You don't have to explain your reasoning to me."

But it was a personal duty to do so, especially to Persephone. "Do you

remember when Rudy and I went to see your, er," he glanced at Ferelith, but powered on, "your photographs?"

She stiffened. "I remember."

"You said to me that you liked being a shadowing advisor, but you _loved_ photography. That you could do it for the rest of your life." He tilted his head back and forth. "Being queen is essentially being a shadowing advisor on octane. And look at my mother… she doesn't have time for any hobbies."

He didn't even _know_ what her hobbies were.

"I didn't want to lock you in to that life forever," he continued. "That's what being with me means. Plus, well, we've known each other for so long that I felt like… if we wanted to be together, we would've already. You know?"

A flicker of hesitation overcame her, but was gone in a moment, replaced with an easy smile. "That's a fair assessment."

They never really interacted all that much before the Selection, but if fate had wanted it, fate would have intertwined them somehow.

"A-And me?" Ferelith's small voice piped up.

That guilt fettered him like chains. He was surprised she had the muster to ask at all, but there was no point being dishonest now. "I… just don't feel like I know you very well, compared to the others, at this point in the competition."

Maybe having the spy had changed that. Maybe if Skye weren't around, he'd have spent more time with Ferelith, more energy into overcoming her shyness.

"I-I'm sorry," Ferelith mumbled. "It's just… I'm… it's difficult…"

"I know," he said, grooming a smile. "But my reasoning still stands." And he couldn't back out now, anyway.

She didn't prod further, and neither begged for a second chance, so he let them on their way to pack their bags, heads held high. Persephone would move back into her old room for now, and Roy hoped he'd given her some food for thought about her future. Ferelith, meanwhile, would be packing to leave.

Elimination was no easier now than it was compared to the earlier stages of the competition. In fact, it was like pulling a splinter free from his finger that had been lodged there for years – a relief, but still painful, almost as if it belonged inside his skin now.

He shooed away his apprehension as he marched towards the Women's Room. The tough words were over, and now he could see the people that really mattered. Ambrosia, Avianna, Camilla, Delia, Elise, Lilly, Luna, Maeve, Regina, and Sherlock.

The Elite. _His_ Elite.

It was getting so close to the end. To finding the One.

It spritzed excitement and nerves up and down his spine like jolts of electricity.

The Elite were a bundle of crackling vigour when he was announced and allowed entrance. They stood, nervous, but grinning between one another. Elise was nudging Ambrosia, who was still frozen, and Regina had a notepad out and was furiously note-taking, probably to remember the last few moments of the Report.

Katrina was amongst them too, looking particularly sulky, which he could only guess was because she hadn't known about his surprise announcement, and Sashi, who shimmied up to him with a hand on her hips.

"You sure know how to pull the rug from underneath us, eh, Your Highness?" she said this with an almost chiding tone, but he knew it was teasing.

Roy grinned. "I'm the prince. I do what I want."

"Mmm, yes, that's apparent now," Sashi turned to the Selected, "right, girls?"

They chorused their agreement with laughs and cheers. Roy cleared his throat when the laughter died down.

"Congratulations everyone. You've been chosen as my Elite."

Another rush of excited whispers. Maeve wrapped an arm around Lilly's shoulder and pulled her close in confident triumph, to which, Lilly smiled demurely.

"As such," Roy continued, "you are now, and forever more, upgraded to Caste Two from Caste Three. You have new privileges open to you and probably newfound popularity, too. As the Elite, you will also have to undertake new lessons on political etiquette, host foreign parties and guests, and oversee a philanthropy project, either solo or in small groups, which we'll discuss closer to the time."

He grinned, and it was giddy and childish and playful. "I'm really looking forward to getting to know you all better, now that there are less of you." _And now that I don't have to worry about who the spy is._

"Nicely said," said Sashi, turning to the girls also. "I expect you all to be your best self. Always _be yourself,_ of course, but don't forget this is a competition, and that just because you're through to the next stage, doesn't mean it's a cruise from here on out."

That steamrolled over the excitement for something alien. Intensity. There was desire to win burning in some eyes – Avianna, distinctive with her smirk, and Delia, cool yet with a glint of assertiveness. Luna seemed colder than usual, and there was even an edge to Maeve's boomed laughter.

He swallowed – the new air was palpable. "Er, having said that, don't fret too much. Be cool like cucumbers, and we can all enjoy this experience together."

Sashi clapped her hands. From the doors, maids burst through with assorted trays of drinks – mostly champagne, but for the non-drinkers or just those who didn't enjoy the taste, was an array of other beverages. Orange juice, soda, dressed up with lemon and fancy flutes.

"To the Elite!" he cheered.

The girls raised their glasses. "To the Elite!"

He knocked back his champagne in one go. Well, he did deserve it.

Sashi poked his arm. Taking advantage of the uproar from the newly crowned Elite, she turned to him and whispered, "Hey, er, Roy. Now would be a good time to ask one of them on a date."

"What? So soon?"

"Yeah, whilst spirits are high," she said. "Considering your last date was with… well, you know."

With Skye. He knew too well.

He needed to burn that memory from his head.

"Okay, yeah, I will." He glanced back at the girls. "Who should I take?"

"Someone you haven't taken yet. Officially."

Awkwardly, he realised, he hadn't been on _official_ dates with half of them. Luna, Delia, Regina, Avianna, Lilly were the only ones… Did the midnight stroll in the woods count for Camilla? And the excursions beneath the palace with Elise?

"Don't want to have too much champagne," he heard Sherlock say over the buzzing din, "or else we might become _Elite-ttle_ drunk!"

Girls around her laughed. He watched her hair fly backwards as she laughed too, reminding him of the first time they met.

"SHERLOCK!" he bellowed.

The room became utterly still. Sherlock instantly whitened, her flute tilting slightly with the tensing of her hands, and stepped out.

"Er, yes, Your Highness?"

Well, what was stopping him? She'd apparently wormed her way into Gail's heart, with all the stuff she was spouting earlier, so perhaps it was time Roy found out why Gail found her so appealing.

"Tomorrow evening, would you like to go on a date?"

The other girls swivelled to face her. A tennis match of waiting.

Sherlock blinked. Then grinned and bowed with a twizzle of her free hand. "I'd be honoured, Your Most Royal Highness."

"Great!" he said, and it squealed out from him like an awkward teenager in the throes of puberty. He cleared his throat. "Great. Any ideas about what you want to do?"

"I'd love to go ice skating," she said almost immediately. "There's an ice skating rink in Los Angeles city centre, but only if that's… _cool,_ with you?"

Prepared in advance for that. Of course.

"Then we'll go ice skating tomorrow evening in Los Angeles."

He glanced at Sashi – she gave Roy a wink and a subtle nod of approval – before she waved at him to leave.

"Now shoo. We have food to eat, and an Elite photoshoot to prepare for. Clarity and Rainerd will be here shortly!"

When the door shut behind him, he heard another whoop of cheers. Pattering down the corridor, satisfied and happy, maids streamed passed him with more trays of finger foods and hors d'oeuvres for the girls to enjoy.

Things were looking up.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy was not at all surprised when Sherlock appeared to him for the date the next evening wearing what looked like a duvet.

He'd come prepared – loose, but formal deep blue shirt and cotton trousers for easy manoeuvring. No tie, and black loafers, since he was swapping them for ice skates anyway. Underneath his clothes were arm- and shin-pads, because the chance of him falling on his ass was too high to risk, and his pea coat tucked the warmth close to him, though inside the palace, he could've been a Thanksgiving turkey in an oven.

Sherlock had come dressed in looser jogging bottoms and a pair of nice trainers. But her coat was a duvet, the shiny material quilted into squares. It wrapped around her neck like an overbearing collar. Her hair was as coiled and mad as ever, though it appeared she attempted to downplay its frizziness with spray.

She splayed her arms when she reached him. "What do you think of my coat?"

"It's very… Sherlock," he said honestly.

She laughed. "Do you know what it's made of?"

"No. What?"

"Girlfriend material."

It was his turn to laugh.

Outside, the chill crept through his toes, and he didn't hesitate to hop into the limo with Sherlock, and make their way to the Los Angeles ice skating rink. He'd gone out of his way to call ahead and book an hour to themselves, the whole rink free. For a proper date atmosphere, he hoped.

The centre had obviously tattled to the press between now and last night, as paparazzi swarmed the entrance as the limo slid to the front doors.

Sherlock stared outside the tinted windows with an unrestrained cringe. "Oh, boy."

"Yep," Roy said. "Do you want to hold my hand?"

"What?"

"Hold my hand?" he asked again. It must have taken her by surprise, the question.

Her grin came moments too late. "Well, I guess it will help me… _handle_ the spotlight."

"If you can say a pun to the paparazzi, I'll be more impressed."

An inkling of challenge overcame her, and she nodded and offered her hand. Roy took it – it didn't feel like sparks were pulsing up and down his arm. There wasn't some tension riding through him at the sensation. It just felt… friendly. Nice.

The chauffeur opened the door to an uproar of noise.

"Prince Roy! Roy!"

"How are you recovering from the spy incident?"

"Do you have any plans to combat the rebels?"

"Are you excited about the Elite?"

He let the questions bounce off a cool exterior, all his prince training coming into play, and alighted the limo. Sherlock followed afterwards, but it was clear but her blanching face that she was taking the attention less well.

"Sherlock Graves! Lady Graves!"

"How do you feel about Roy's kidnapping?"

"Are you prepared for such threats if you are crowned queen?"

"Do you feel romance between you?"

But she rose to the challenge. Her eyes glossed over every each and every paparazzi, ignoring the barrage of questions until they both arrived just in front of the opened doors of the ice skating rink. Tensions were high, and she turned.

And said, "A PUN!"

Then she whirled back around and walked inside with Roy, and the door shut behind them. Roy placed a hand on his mouth to stop laughing.

"That's definitely not what I meant."

She let his hand go and placed them akimbo. "I just did as you asked, Your Most Royal Highness."

"So you did, and I can't criticise you for that," he agreed, and gestured to the front desk with the shoe cubbyholes. "Shall we?"

It took ten minutes to be fully kitted out with ice-skating shoes. Roy hadn't been for years, so he was inopportunely relegated to the side of the rink. Cool air seemed to rise from the ice, tingling his nose and ears. Sherlock was, thankfully, in the same sort of position, so together they awkwardly shuffled along the rink until some semblance of balance had been found.

Then they were skating around.

"Gail repeated something you said to me and my mother yesterday."

Sherlock seemed to freeze as stiff as the ice beneath them. "She did? Oh no. What?"

Puzzled at her reaction, Roy said, "Why? What have you been telling her?"

Her face fell – just slightly. "Well, it's just… she came into the Women's Room the day you were in the infirmary without Lanna, and she was crying."

His heart stopped. Oh god, poor Gail. He didn't even think it'd affected her, his kidnapping, but clearly hadn't given her enough credit. She must have noticed the turmoil from himself and his parents and reflected back, even if she didn't entirely understand what had happened.

Sherlock smiled sympathetically. "Lilly had the idea to play hockey with her in the hallway for a while, and she cheered up pretty quickly after that. I nearly whacked her with the hockey stick a few times."

"And you told her not to be sad…?"

She grinned. "Because _sad_ backwards is _das,_ and _das_ not good."

He laughed. "It worked."

"Cami scored a goal because Gail was giggling so hard, and that set off Elise, who was our goalie. Lanna found Gail because she was laughing so loudly, the whole palace could hear. And Cami can't play hockey for toffee anyway, so you know Gail must have found it utterly hysterical—" Her cheeks went red slightly. "Not to, er, toot my own horn, of course."

"Sounds like a moment worthy of tooting your own horn," said Roy, "if you can perk Gail back up like that."

Sherlock smiled, but didn't say anything, and pushed into a skate again. They enjoyed the warm solitude between them in the iciness of the rink, completed several more laps before either spoke again.

"Hey, Roy," she said suddenly. "Can I try a few pick lines on you?"

She passed him, and, not to be outdone, Roy pushed his legs faster and skated to catch up, not missing the casual use of his first name either. "Sure. I'll rate them."

"Okay," she said, slowing and taking a breath. "Are you a campfire? Because you're hot and I want s'more."

Roy snorted. "Heard that one before. Three out of ten."

"Three?!"

"And they were pity points," said Roy, winking.

He skated off and Sherlock blitzed after him.

"Are you a tower?" she said. "Because Eiffel for you."

Roy chuckled. "Okay, a solid six."

"That's at least a seven."

"Six-point-five. Take it or leave it."

Sherlock scrunched up her face, arched around him, and came to a stop in the middle of the rink. "I'm not a photographer, but," she paused, making jazz hands, "I can picture us together."

Roy stopped by her and laughed, this time letting it course through his system. "Never heard that one. Nine."

"What do I have to say to get a ten?"

He thought the answer would come easy. But, staring at her, in her Sherlock coat and Sherlock hair and Sherlock ways, he wasn't sure she'd ever get the ten. He enjoyed her company, her laughs and fun, but hearing a pick-up line that truly reeled him in…

It just seemed like this was banter, fun teasing between two people, but nothing romantic. At least, nothing to the scale her romance puns seemed to reach.

It was early in their date, early in the Elite. He definitely saw a brighter future with Sherlock than he did Persephone and Ferelith, so he had no regrets with his choice, but now he had to sort through his heart and soul. The girls who were his friends, and the girls who were different. The girls who captured his heart in another way.

Maybe he just needed to dig deeper. "Why do you like puns so much?"

Her nose wrinkled. "I like them." Her demeanour flattened. "Don't… you?"

"Yeah, but… I don't know." He wanted to frame it in a way that wasn't awkward. "I've never talked to you when you haven't made a joke about something."

"Well, if you're wanting me to be super extra serious, I can definitely do that." She cleared her throat. "Tax returns."

"What?"

"Why, the Dow Jones has been on the fall recently. The rebels have been rioting in Midston and Sumner and it's horrible. Remind me to purchase laundry detergent from Walmart next week."

"Okay, too serious," he said, shuddering at the mention of the rebels. "Now I see."

She smiled, and it was an honest, almost soul-baring thing. "Yeah. I always think it's better to make people laugh." She grinned. "Especially on a date." She grabbed his hand and pulled. "Now come on, I'll race you!"

She'd dodged his question, almost artfully, but still left it hanging in the air. Even when he asked her to be serious, she wasn't. But maybe he just didn't know her well enough yet, maybe this date was making her too nervous.

Still wasn't sure it was what Roy was looking for in a future partner.

He let her pull him, and he laughed, genuinely enjoying the moment and gearing up for the race. Some of the paparazzi were allowed entrance, too, including Clarity and Rainerd, to take photos for their respective newspapers and magazines. But he tucked the conversation away in his head, resolving to consider it later that day.

Sherlock won the race, but Roy argued it was because she was taller. She booed that idea; he was _obviously_ just the worst ice-skater between them, and they bickered about it during the limo journey home.

When they arrived at the palace, Roy dismissed the chauffeur for a few minutes. To be alone with her. He took a deep breath.

"I had a lot of fun today," he said. "Even if the last race was unfair."

Sherlock smirked. Because of the churned ice, some of the strands of her hair were damp. "If that helps you sleep at night, Roy, you keep telling yourself that. But," she smiled, "I had fun, too."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, and Roy brought back that information that had slithered around his head since their conversation.

He _liked_ a lot of people. He liked all of his Elite… but _love_ was something different. His heart had a hard time separating between the two these last few days, since he'd been tossed and tumbled like he'd been thrown down a hill in a barrel. When he'd made his decision for his Elite, he was certain there was something there, something between himself and each of his chosen Selected.

But on this date, now that he'd waded the waters with Sherlock a little more, his certainty about her had diminished. And he needed that distinction if he wanted to move forwards.

"Sherlock, do you like me?"

It was jarring, like the peal of a bell during a quiet winter evening. Sherlock sensed the change – he knew it – and by the falling of her amused expression, she had an idea about what he wanted to talk about, too.

"Of course I do."

"But I mean… _like like,"_ he said. "Different from a friend."

Her lips formed a hard, thin line, and she didn't say anything for a while.

"I don't know," she whispered. "What about you? Do you… like me in that way?"

It hung there. Her answer, and her question. "I don't know either, but…" he braced himself, "I feel like it's leaning towards a _no._ "

He searched her expression, but it had become unmercifully blank. Seemed to chew in her eyes and glimmer at the tip of her tongue. Then, she spoke again.

"Same." She shrugged. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're funny, and handsome, and you're a better man than you were at the start of the Selection, but I'm tunnelling through myself trying to find out whether I like you like a friend or whether I like you differently, and… I'm only coming up with the friend thing."

It didn't really hurt. It _was_ mutual, after all.

"You know how I figure it out?" Sherlock said. "I think about whether I want to kiss someone or not – and not just kiss them, you know, but _kiss_ them. If I'd find it weird, or just don't want to, then it's a no, but if I do…"

He stared at Sherlock's lips, and sank in his seat when he realised he didn't want to kiss her. _That's that, then._

"Er," she said suddenly, "not that there's anything wrong with you or your lips. I'm sure your lips are very… moist…?"

Roy burst out with a laugh suddenly. "Why thank you. I'll put that poignant quote on my gravestone."

She winked. "As a funeral director, I can have that arranged."

They laughed with one another until stomachs hurt, until the chauffeur awkwardly tapped on the window. He let them both out and the warmth of the palace embraced them.

Sherlock turned to Roy. "I suppose there's no point in me staying if we both feel the same."

"Yeah. It's for the best."

She placed the back of her hand against her forehead. "Gosh, I so liked my new title as Elite as well. Go on," she fluttered her other hand, "do it. Stab me."

He stuck out his tongue. "Yeah, yeah. Sherlock Graves, I gracefully dismiss you from my Selection."

She gasped, but then chuckled. "Well, it's been a lot of fun. Good luck with the other girls, Roy. They're wonderful, I promise."

"I know," he said.

"And keep your royal chairs."

Without waiting for a response, Sherlock turned, swaggering down the hallway back to her room to pack.

Roy paused, processed what she'd said, then yelled after her, "Wait. Royal chairs?"

"Yeah!" she said, not bothering to turn back around. "Because I keep seeing so many that are _throne_ out!"

The hallway was silent of footsteps for a long time before Roy stopped laughing.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

It was his easiest elimination yet – far better than the public dismissal during the Report of the Elite – but it still left Roy feeling somewhat empty in his chest. Sherlock would be fine, and her elevated status and caste would be great for her business, but he hadn't intended, or even anticipated an elimination right off the bat.

Maybe it would serve as another reminder to the remaining Elite, a repeat of Sashi's warning. _Just because you're through to the next stage, doesn't mean it's a cruise from here on out._

Still reeling in his feelings, Roy relaxed in his bedroom for a while before heading back towards his office, to end the day with some paperwork. At least that was logical, and not at all directed by whims, like his heart.

Ji-Yu was waiting outside his door when he arrived. It was the most casual he'd seen her – dressy trousers and a chiffon blouse, but instead she was wearing her sleepwear slippers and holding a glass of sherry.

She turned to him, and he read her frustration as easily as he could see the acres of the palace's garden from his windows.

"Mother," he greeted.

She had a long sip. "Oh, good. I've been looking for you. How was your date with Lady Sherlock?"

"It went well," he said, "but I eliminated her. I don't think we were right for one another."

"Oh." She took another sip, and then added bitterly, "Well, it's for the best, I suppose."

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Why do you say that? And why do you say it _like_ that?"

Something had changed. Her air. In the studio, yesterday, after his announcement, she was pleased. Proud. It seemed a strong step to recovery. Now it looked like _she_ might be needing recovery.

"For lack of better words," she began. "I doubt we will have peace here for the next few weeks."

"What?"

"It's Christmas soon," she said, like it was obvious. "And your birthday."

Whoa. Roy had been so wrapped up with the Selection and the spy that he'd completely forgotten about his own damn _birthday._ He swallowed. "Yeah. Okay. Unless you're planning to throw me a party every day, why will this mean _no peace?"_

She ran a hand through her hair.

"Because it means we will have more family over. My family," she said. "I just received word that your grandparents are coming over. And…" her sigh could have dragged on the floor, "your aunt, Mimi."

Roy hadn't seen his grandparents and his aunt since two years ago, the last time they'd come to the palace. His grandparents had been taking a world-round trip, mainly to return to Seoul, South Korea, to live for a while, and exploring the rest of the earth in between. He hadn't been up to date with all of their happenings since.

His aunt, Mi-Gyeong, or Mimi, well… he couldn't have feigned ignorance about her current circumstances because her escapades were all over social media. Her Instagraph, her Chirper, constantly updated with the latest parties she attended, the hottest new celebrities she'd palled around with. Her shopping trips, fanciest holidays.

"Okay…" Roy said to Ji-Yu, leaning against his office door. "Why is this such a big deal?"

Ji-Yu shot him a dark look and swirled the glass of sherry in her hand. It must've been quite the downer on her mood if she had turned to the rare drink and put on her slippers with her work clothes.

"Because your aunt is the biggest drama queen on the planet. And you're having a _Selection_."

"… So?" He couldn't help but let a giddy grin overcome him. "She always buys me the best presents."

"Yes, but… well, I suppose you'll see." She downed her glass. "I came to tell you to prepare for her arrival. I'm giving your ten Elite – sorry, nine – their first task: organising the welcoming party. They'll arrive in three days, so you and the girls better hurry."

She strode off without another word.

* * *

 **A/N:** And so ends the Twinces arc for good. Now we say hello to... the Elite arc... Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Big thank yous to **wolfofstark** , **starsilverdust** and **thesparklingjewel** for Persephone, Ferelith, and Sherlock! Hopefully you understand why I eliminated the first two by now. I admit I feel especially bad for Ferelith's elimination; I didn't really get the opportunity to flesh her character out, but both her and Ambrosia are similar in personality, and Ambrosia already had some focus, so it made sense how the polls went. Still, great characters regardless, and writing Sherlock's puns was a blast.

If you're eager to have a taste of Ji-Yu's family before 45, check out Chapter 4 in Select Few! ;)

So then, Roy's in the Elite stage and the spy has been unveiled. Nothing bad can happen now...

... right?

~ GWA

NTT: "I told her I was falling in love with you, Roy."


	45. Out of the Loop

A strong sense of Déjà vu washed over Roy as he stood on the helipad, with Ji-Yu to his left, Gail and Merrick to his right, and at least fifty servants in rows behind him. Clouds mottled the pale blue sky, but it wasn't breezy, so Roy only shivered slightly as he waited.

Well, he'd be shivering less if he hadn't been there for twenty minutes.

"Are they here yet?" Gail whined, holding onto Roy and Merrick's hands. "I'm cold!"

"Not long now, peanut," said Merrick. "I'm sure they'll be here… er, soon."

Roy glanced at his mother; her _hanbok_ wasn't one of her newer ones – rather, one that that her parents had given her many years ago. There was some obvious wear in the deep midnight blue of the fabric, but it must've been precious enough to keep. But even if she'd come dressed for the occasion, she jumped from foot to foot, shoulders pulled in towards her thin frame, hair yanked into the most severe bun, hand on head.

He didn't remember Ji-Yu ever being this anxious about her family's arrival. Why did she dread Mimi so much?

"You okay, Mother?" he asked.

She removed her hand. "Yes, fine. A little tired, is all."

"It's barely twelve."

"I know," she said. "Doesn't bode well."

Though it was probably because they'd been standing there. Endlessly. Waiting.

A familiar buzz echoed from the air, and everyone simultaneously looked up. It started as a speck in the distance that grew into a helicopter, engorging in size the closer it got to them. Wind sliced through his clothes, and Roy pulled his coat closer to him.

When the helicopter landed, the pilots opened the doors.

Two people were at the door, and the woman alighted first. Young-Sook Kim, Roy's grandmother. Her thinning grey hair reached just to her shoulders, and her skin pale and leathery. Unlike the Schreaves, Young-Sook hadn't bothered to dress fancily, appearing in a long, dark green smock and trousers.

She pattered slowly across the helipad and said in Korean, " _Come here and hug your mother, Ji-Yu."_

Ji-Yu met her halfway. " _Mother, wonderful to see you,"_ she said, leaning down to embrace her.

The pilot helped a man next. There was less of Hwan Kim's hair the last time Roy had seen him. He stretched his back, arms and legs a comically long time, showing off his liver spots.

"Where's my favourite grandchild?"

Gail split from Roy and Merrick and ran towards him. " _Harabeoji!"_ she yelled. _Grandfather._

He nearly collapsed with the weight of her. "There she is! And you're so big now! How have you been, peanut?"

Young-Sook shuffled over with Ji-Yu. Her grin tugged all of her skin tightly together, and she pulled Roy into a long hug. " _Ah, Jun. You're so handsome now."_

" _Halmeoni,_ " he greeted. _Grandmother._ " _How are you?"_

" _I'm well, thank you,"_ she said, polite as always.

Merrick had taken on his weird, awkward smile, as he always did around Ji-Yu's parents, and stuck out a hand. "It's good to see you, Young-Sook."

She shook his hand – her grip wasn't at all fading either, by the fleeting horror on Merrick's face. "Thank you." The few words she knew in English were well-pronounced; Roy could hardly tell she didn't speak the language.

Hwan came over with Gail bundled in his arms, but put her down almost immediately. "You're too heavy for me now, peanut."

"But _Oji,_ I want to fly!"

"I'm sure _Appa_ will rectify that soon enough." He gave Merrick and Ji-Yu a quick hug before clasping Roy hard on the back. "How's my least favourite grandchild?"

Roy frowned. "You only have two grandkids…"

"Well, obviously Gail is my favourite, and then it's you, so technically you're last." He grinned back, hunching his shoulders in teasing. " _How's your Korean?"_

" _My Korean is excellent, thank you."_

Hwan hooted with laughter. " _It's so accented! You sound like an Illéan trying to be Korean!"_

" _But I_ am _Illé—"_

" _What about you, Su-Jin?"_ Hwan said, using Gail's Korean name. " _How's your Korean?"_

" _My Korean is good!"_ Gail piped. " _Ceramic bowl from the Goryeo dynasty!"_

It was an extremely long word in Korean, with seventeen syllable blocks, like the equivalent of _disestablishmentarianism,_ and Roy double-took.

Yet, Hwan just nodded and petted her head. " _Look at that! My favourite grandchild, knowing all the big words._ "

Ji-Yu frowned. " _Where_ did _you learn that, Su-Jin?"_

" _Oji told me it two seconds ago!"_

They all laughed. Well, except Merrick, who awkwardly grinned and pretended he knew what was going on. Ji-Yu had to translate for him, and by the end of it, he was smiling a little wider, but the joke was probably funnier in its native language. They couldn't win, when his grandparents were over – either it was Merrick left in the blue when they conversed in Korean, or Young-Sook in English.

Ji-Yu's face dropped the merriment. "Where's Mimi?"

Hwan and Young-Sook exchanged glances.

"Er," Hwan started. He jerked his head. "Making an entrance."

Another buzz snagged their attention. Another helicopter, large and pink, the shade of cotton candy and studded with gemstones, blades chopping through cloud like a delicate ribbon dancer, fluttered towards them and touched down in front of the stationary helicopter.

The pilots exited but, instead of helping out the passengers like the others had for Hwan and Young-Sook, they stood on opposite sides of the helicopter door, trumpets in hand. A synchronised tune blasted out into the air, with snippets of both the Illéan and the South Korean national anthems slipping through.

Then they opened the doors. A boot emerged first – the fattest, tallest, glitteriest pink heel Roy had ever seen, almost blinding with how many gems were embedded onto its surface. The second one joined, and finally the body with it, in a matching glitzy pink bodycon dress, and hair clips pinning long blonde hair into a Cinderella style.

Aunt Mimi announced over the fanfare, "I'm _heeeeeeeeeeeere!"_

She descended the steps with her hips swinging. As she neared, Roy noted that age was catching up to her. Wrinkles peeked from beneath her heavy make-up and lines from her forehead. Her brown eyes glimmered like precious jewels of their own, the only thing youthful about them being the mischievous twinkle.

Startling how alike and yet _unalike_ she and Ji-Yu were, underneath the glamour of a diva and the duty of a queen. Same face, same body shape, same eyes. But their presentation couldn't have been any more different.

Mimi rushed over as fast as her heels could take her and seized Ji-Yu in a hug. " _Ji-Ji!_ My favourite baby sister!"

Ji-Yu choked out a meagre, "Hi," back to her.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, eyelashes thick with mascara. "You know how I am."

"Yes, regretfully," said Ji-Yu. "Not like we've been standing here in the December cold, waiting for you."

Mimi stuck out her tongue before her eyes snagged on Roy. "Oh my god, Roy, is that you? That haircut! You're so handsome! And look how manly you are!"

She squished his cheeks as he said, unconvincingly, "I'm the manliest man to ever man."

"And your _Selection!"_ Mimi's glossy red lips formed an _o_ shape. "I want all the details! Everything! Tell me all the gossip! Right now—" She cut herself off as she noticed the entourage of servants. "Wait. Why are all these people here?"

Ji-Yu glanced to the side. "For your things. In your helicopters?"

"Oh, no, my things are coming in my limousines. They should have arrived by now."

Ji-Yu's eye twitched, and she quickly rushed to the edge of the building. Roy joined her to see, though her face would've said everything anyway – three limos, also bright pink, parked in the front courtyard and awaiting orders from authority.

Ji-Yu quickly hustled the servants into gear, and all fifty of them trounced back downstairs to deliver her belongings to her bedroom. In the meantime, the rest of them headed towards the West Wing drawing room, where the Selected girls were waiting, and Mimi regaled them all with her latest adventures and purchases.

"I touched down not three hours ago from Paris, France! Had me a delicious croissant for breakfast. Gosh, those people know how to make food." She gestured to her boots. "These are Jimmy Choo's, of course. Well, they were made by his fiftieth great grandkids or whatever, but you know, it's the name that counts. Only one pair in the world, and I'm wearing them!"

Roy didn't even think they were cool ironically, but he knew Mimi long enough to know her taste extended far beyond the range of normal, and she bought him presents he liked, at least.

Mimi roped an arm around Roy and led him down the stairs.

"So, like I said, gossip. Tell me it all." She cupped her cheek. "I saw on social media that you eliminated Sherlock Graves the other day. And right after your date, it's rumoured!"

"That's exactly what happened, actually."

"Oh, wow. That's cruel… I _love_ it." She waggled a finger. "No beating around the bush for my love-struck _joka."_ _Nephew._ "Which of the lovely ladies do you love then, hmm?"

"Er, the break was mutual. And I'm not in love with anyone yet, let alone _love-struck."_

"You're not?"

The others passed the in the hallway. Ji-Yu offered him a pitiful look.

"Nope," he said to Mimi. "I'm still feeling around the waters right now."

"So your lack of dates in the papers wasn't just withheld information? You literally _haven't_ been on many dates?"

"I've been… dealing with other things…"

If she caught the implication, she didn't react, and Mimi dragged her bottom lip down in a cringe face. "Well, your mother and father had been on three dates together at this point in his Selection. I remember, because I was screaming at the television for them to just _marry_ already."

He wrinkled his nose. _Dating_ and _his parents_ shouldn't be in the same sentence. "I'm taking things at my own pace."

"Oh, and so you should," Mimi agreed, and she tugged him along again. "Come on. I want to meet the ladies!"

When the West Wing drawing room had been kitted out for Alex and Barney's arrival, the decoration had been subtle. Restrained. _Boring._ Because Roy thought them boring people who deserved no more than the bare minimum. But for his grandparents and, more importantly, Mimi, he'd asked the girls to go all out. And by all out, he had hinted very heavily one thing. Pink.

And pink they'd gone.

Creamy pink laces adorning the milky pink tablecloths. Hot pink lights strung up around the friezes. Pale pink vases from China, festooned with orchids, lilies, carnations, and a few petals of cherry blossom, and even the carpet had been exchanged for something pastel, with an ornate pattern shot through with salmon pink thread.

The girls had agreed on pink-themed wear, too. Luckily, they'd mostly chosen shades different to the room, to each other, and Mimi herself. Rainerd and Clarity were the only things in the room coloured dark and dismal, madly snapping photos in the corner.

Mimi clapped her hands together. "Oh, I _love_ it! You all know how to throw a party!"

There was even a pink-coloured punch bowl by the buffet table. Like this was some sort of Japanese lolita high school prom.

As Mimi threw herself into introductions, not bothering to wait for Roy, Sashi sidled up to him. Her sari was, unsurprisingly, a dark pink.

"We were supposed to have a K-Pop band, but Avianna booked them for the wrong time. Think she was distracted from the task, if I'm honest."

If that was the worst that happened, today was successful. It seemed most of the girls could pull off organisation in a short space of time. Judging by the furtive looks between them, the organisation part might not have gone swimmingly.

Ji-Yu had a cup of punch and came to join them both with a disdainful eye. She rested her hand against her forehead.

"Feeling okay, Ji?" asked Sashi.

"Yes. I'm fine. Still… dizzy." She waved it away. "Though perhaps it's because of the pink. You know your aunt well, Roy."

"Too well," Sashi said. "I hate this theme. I think my eyes will bleed cotton candy, or, if I'm lucky, I'll cry some bright pink studded Jimmy Choo boots."

Bitterness in her voice, too. Roy chewed his lip. "What's wrong with you two? Why don't you like Aunt Mimi?"

They exchanged glances.

Ji-Yu, understandably, spoke first. "It's not that I don't like my sister. There's a good person beneath her glitz and glamour. But she's… a handful, and sometimes a frustration." She shrugged. "Call me boring, but if roles were reversed, I wouldn't want this pageant we've put on for her."

"Yeah. Same," said Sashi. "I mean, minus the sister part. That would be weird. But I met her during Ji-Yu's wedding, Roy, and she wanted to pal with me all day. I mean, I get it, I was super famous and basically best friend five-ever of your mother throughout the entire Selection, but… you know, there's friendly, and there's _clingy."_

"Typical Mimi. Always wanting the spotlight." Ji-Yu said it with an odd mix of derision and admiration. "She likes to have fun wherever she goes, but, you know… it's nice to slow down once in a while."

"Totes," said Sashi. "I was about to get off with a hot guy at the wedding reception too, before Mimi interrup— oh my _god,_ Elise, that's too many trays to hold at once! You're not Ursula from the Little Mermaid, darn it!"

Sashi bolted off. Ji-Yu just smiled and sipped her punch, then grimaced.

"Too sweet." She sighed. "But aside from her flair for the extravagant, Roy, whenever she visits, she always… wants something."

Roy turned to her. "What?"

"Money. A favour. Networking contacts. _Something."_ Her voice had taken an edge of warning. "I'm not saying she'll manipulate you or anything like that, nor do I think it's malicious in any way, but sometimes she thinks our kindness extends beyond the normal set boundaries between human beings because we're family _and_ royalty. So just… be careful around her."

He didn't like the sound of that. "Okay, I guess. I think she seems fascinated with the Selection."

"Nothing has changed in twenty years, then."

Ji-Yu floated away, probably to dispose of the saccharine punch, and at that exact moment, Mimi popped free from the crowd to find Roy.

"Oh my god, I love her."

"… Who?"

"Delia Colestrist!" she whispered. "God, she's adorable! And she painted a picture of you! I _have_ to see it. I hope you're hanging it somewhere. What do you think of her?"

After all that talk from Ji-Yu, he sat uncomfortably on the edge of _I think she's a cool aunt_ and _what does she want from me?_ "Yeah. I like Delia."

Mimi stared at him blankly, which, after a few moments, got really awkward. Heat rose up Roy's neck. "What?"

"That's it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you have, like… _more_ to say about a complex human being whom may become your wife one day?"

He blanched. "I've only been on one date with Delia. Like, I know her, but I don't know her extremely well yet—"

"Good!" Mimi stuck a finger in the air. "She mentioned that she was _desperate_ to be alone with you again. And I thought, _perfect!_ So I set you up on a date with her!"

His stomach fell to his feet. " _What?"_ he said. "For when?!"

"Now!"

His eyes scoured the crowd and, to his dismay, Delia stood right at the cusp of it, trying to not look like she was watching them expectantly and twirling her heel around on the carpet.

"You want me to go on a date with her _now?_ What about the party?"

"You two can sneak off for a while, don't worry about it!" She nodded. "I've told Clarity and Rainerd, too, so they can take some photos for the paper!"

He couldn't spot them, which he supposed was better. Pretend like they weren't intruding.

"I mean," he rubbed his neck, "thanks and all, and I'll go on the date with her, but you didn't have to set it up during your—"

"Oh, please, Roy, you're practically miserable here. I know you want to go off and have a good time with your ladies." Mimi twirled him around and gave him a gentle push in Delia's direction. "Thank me later, and have fun!"

He nearly toppled right into Delia, but thankfully, he righted himself before things got awkward.

Though by the looks on her face, it was too late.

Her light blush matched with her pink chiton dress, cutting to her knee. In her gold gladiator heels, she nearly came up to Roy's height, though it was hard to tell with her head dipped. In reverence? Awkwardness? He didn't know.

She flickered her gaze to the door. "Ready to go?"

This was all happening so fast. He hadn't had any time to prepare, mentally or physically. His suit today spoke of confidence, of etiquette, not romance and dates and butterflies in his stomach. Stiffly, Roy swallowed and plastered on a smile.

"Yeah, let's go."

Where were they going? What would they do? It swirled in Roy's head, even as they slipped through the doors and into the quiet hallway. Mostly it was busy, with maids and butlers dashing in and out to replenish drinks and fix unfortunate spillages, but no one spoke, and the silence ballooned heavily in Roy's gut as it did the room.

They meandered into an emptier hallway, where a row of suits lined the walls, and a window overlooked the greenhouse by the exit of the East Wing.

Delia chewed her lip. "Your aunt seems nice."

"If by nice, you mean _wild,_ then yes, she's very nice."

It earnt a chuckle from her, but didn't ease any of the tension roiling in Roy's gut. Dates were supposed to be fun, not forced. Sure, the whole Selection set-up was forced by its very fundamental nature, but even through that he had some choice. Some preparation. Not being chucked into it as easily as tossing a football.

He gulped his reservations down. "What did you talk about with her?"

"Oh, she wanted to know about our beach date, and what was running through my head, mostly." Her breathing stilted. "And about what I thought of you."

 _Desperate?_ He couldn't picture Delia scrounging at his feet for attention. He'd eliminated all the girls who he suspected would do that by now.

"What did you tell her?"

Her gaze settled on the suits. "She did most of the talking."

Of course.

"But I said… I told her…"

She took a deep breath and stopped in the hallway. Coming to stop besides her, Roy suddenly paled at the look of her face.

She stared him squarely in the eye and said, "I told her I was falling in love with you, Roy."

It might as well have backhanded him.

Boy, was he _not_ expecting that.

It was such a heartfelt confession that now Roy felt _guilty_ about his awkwardness. About wishing he was back at the party. She was _in love with him?_

Her face was cruelly unreadable, but her eyes glistened. This was a truth that had been sitting on her shoulders for a long time, deep into her bones. Yet she presented herself with such poise, it was like she'd practiced this moment. Envisioned how she would say those words.

This was big. Why did he feel so small?

"Oh." It lamely rolled off his tongue.

She swallowed, probably reading his face. "I understand… it's pretty fast. We don't know each other very well, Roy, but… I cannot change what my heart wants."

And Mimi had said she was _desperate?_ It was the world's most conflicting half-truth.

Was he falling in love with Delia?

Perhaps she was with him, despite their humble relationship, but he couldn't say the same. He had to _know_ her. More deeply than this.

Delia inhaled another breath and took another step forwards. "It's… okay if you don't feel the same. I'm willing… I'm willing to wait, if you are."

"Yeah, okay." It seemed such an anti-climax to her confession. "Yeah. Let's… wait it out and see."

How the heck was he supposed to go through the rest of the date now, after _that?_

He didn't pursue her as she ambled down the hallway, staring out the window to the greenhouse. In fact, staying would make it even more awkward, suffocating him like a silk ribbon around his neck.

"I'm… going to go back to the party."

She turned. A few metres away, her face was still wholly blank. "You are?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his neck. "I think you should to. I just need to… digest that, is all."

"And being around other people helps?"

He wasn't sure he liked the edge to her voice. "It does." It would distract him enough so he could process and ponder on it later, at least.

Delia clasped her hands together in front of her until her knuckles whitened, but she nodded, and wordlessly, they both returned to the party.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

By the time both Roy and Delia returned to the West Wing drawing room, the party was in full swing. Mimi had already had enough of the alcoholic punch to kick-start her party mode, which involved a failed attempt at a line dance to a blearing K-Pop tune. Somehow, she'd dragged very put-out Luna and Camilla to join her on both sides.

But luckily, it meant she didn't see Roy standing at the back, for once, trying not to be the star of the show.

He pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Rudy. _Please help me._

His phone buzzed with immediate response. _What's the problem?_

 _A Selected confessed her love to me._

There was a long pause before Rudy replied at all.

 _Dear lord, how much did you drink?_

 _I haven't even had a sip!_

 _Pardon me that I struggle to believe you, Your Highness._

"Roy!"

Roy looked up to Mimi, stumbling towards him. How long were they gone that she'd cut loose this quickly?

Her eyebrows wiggled. "Gosh, that was a fast date. You really _don't_ beat around the bush, do you? So how'd it go?"

"You never said she was going to _confess her love to me."_

Mimi's face warped from mild interest to desperate intrigue in under a second.

"Oh my _god,_ she actually _confessed?_ I was sure she wasn't going to say it to you, at least not today!" Her laugh burst over the music. "That is hilarious! So what did you do?"

"… I'm back here, aren't I?"

Her face dropped as fast as it had been surprised. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Roy! It's too early for all that serious business, isn't it? Did you eliminate her?"

"No," Roy said. "We agreed to wait and see. I need time to, er, process."

"Okay…" Mimi scratched her chin. "Well, that'll make things a lot easier I guess."

"Easier? For what?"

"Didn't she tell you?"

Not for the first time today, Roy's gut shrivelled inside him. "Didn't tell me _what?"_

"I invited her family around!"

He wished he'd misheard. "You _invited her family around?!"_

"I mean, I invited all the Selected's families around. Can't show _too_ much bias, now can I?" She clapped her hands giddily, and it starkly reminded Roy of Gail. "I'm going to host a fabulous dinner party with all your Elite's parents and siblings! How cute is that?"

If an earthquake had happened, Roy would've felt no different, because the world seemed to shift under his feet.

The Elite's families. All of them. In this palace. Judging him with every fibre of their beings.

"B-But—… You can't—…"

"Don't worry! I'll take care of all the details. Flights, dress code, menu, etc. And we'll get the Elite to help, too, so you can really find out who's cut out for party-throwing." She petted his head. "You just worry about being presentable. And you might want to look extra pretty so you can impress all the protective mothers and fathers. Won't be very difficult for you!"

His gaze drifted to the other Selected, who were milling about with each other. Most seemed to be hunched up, worry clouding their expression, the whimsy of the party lost entirely on them now that another pressure had to be added.

He massaged his temple, and when he looked up, Rudy had appeared by his side, wearily watching Delia from the far off. Mimi patted Rudy's shoulder.

"You can help, right, Rudy?" Without waiting for a response, she skipped off and roped Luna and Camilla back into the dance.

Rudy's frown tipped further down. "Help with…?"

"So, Delia confessing her love to me? Now a thousand times worse because her parents are coming over." He explained what Mimi had told him. "For once, I don't feel like partying."

"That's new," said Rudy. "Though you were bound to meet parents at some point, surely?"

"I mean… yeah, but…"

On his terms. Not Mimi's.

Maybe Ji-Yu's dread made an inkling more sense now.

He worked his mouth like the problem was stale gum, refusing to bend to his jaw, and he watched the gathered people from the cusp, too apprehensive to join in.

From the crowd, Merrick peeled away, spotting Roy and Rudy standing together by the wall at the back.

"Are you okay, son?"

He hadn't noticed it before, but Merrick was wearing that same brooch from before. The Gordian knot, gleaming on his lapel. It represented unity, Merrick had once said.

"I'm fine. Mimi's organised a thing with the Selected's parents." Roy raised an eyebrow. "You didn't agree to it, did you?"

"Oh, no. Mimi… tends to do her own thing. But it sounds like a good idea. I'd like to meet some of the ladies' parents." He bowed his head to both him and Rudy. "Well, I do hope you enjoy the festivities."

"Wait. You're not staying?"

"Oh, no." His gaze flitted to the door with a frown. "I… have some things to do."

He left without another word, and Roy tried not to find it strange.

"I suppose this isn't as enjoyable for him," Rudy quipped.

"What are you talking about? Dad loves a line dance!"

"You know what time of year it is, right? December?"

It hit Roy. Of course. December, close to the anniversary of his paternal grandmother's unfortunate death. Merrick's mother, Diantha, succumbing to total loss of mind, to death, and leaving him with a crown and an empty heart.

Roy had never met Diantha, her dying before he was born, before his parents were even married, and Merrick rarely talked about her, but from the looks of it, her death was a betrayal to him. With his sisters married off to foreign parties, and his father wasting away on drink, Diantha was all he had left.

Watching Ji-Yu's parents, alive and well, must've been a kick in the gut.

"Jun!"

Ji-Yu had come through the doors. Before, she might have looked frustrated, annoyed even, but now it was replaced with a ghostly terror, echoing throughout her whole body like a ripple in a pool. Entirely different to Merrick's wistful aura.

She found him, grabbed his arm, and immediately pulled him outside.

"Hey, Mother, wait!"

Rudy dutifully followed, but, naturally, did nothing to stop them, and Ji-Yu's grip didn't lessen until they were far from the party, in her office, with the doors shut behind them.

He yanked his arm back. "Do you mind?" he snapped. "What's the problem?"

Gemima was also in the room. She didn't wear her expressions often, but today she might as well have been told her whole family was dead. Staring out the window, she met Roy's gaze with solemn sadness.

Was it him, or was the way the sun reached weakly into the office an austere, ominous message?

"Your Highness," Gemina greeted. "I'm afraid there's been some bad news."

"Bad _news?!"_ Ji-Yu suddenly barked. "That's how you choose to phrase it?"

He hadn't got a closer look at his mother's face, but now, when she wasn't dragging him against his will, he could see the blotchy cheeks. The strands of hair flitting about in chaos. Red eyes.

She'd been crying.

It curdled the defiance on Roy's tongue.

Today felt like he'd been left out of the loop from everything.

" _What's_ the bad news?"

Ji-Yu inhaled a breath, but a tear rolled down his cheek. Watching her cry so openly was cracking whatever fragile shield he'd assembled over the last few days.

"It's the spy."

It ripped across his chest. "Skye?" he whispered.

"No. Not her." Tears fell without abandon. "There's another spy, Jun. Another one of the Elite girls is a rebel. There had been two all along."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hahah, can you imagine if I left Roy in peace for more than a few chapters? How amusing the thought is! *chortles evilly* Hope you enjoyed the chapter! **  
**

Another poll on my profile! Not concerning the story, but it's been bothering me for a while: **aside from when you have a question, do you like replies to your reviews?** I'm not sure whether people appreciate replies or not, so I opened a poll, mostly to satiate curiosity, but also to guide my own actions in future. Sometimes I have amazing responses (like puns, as some of you will have regrettably discovered), but most the time I don't have much to say other than "thanks for reviewing!", so I wonder if it's worth replying at all.

So, Ji-Yu's nuts sister, Delia's unexpected confession, Merrick unusual melancholy, a dreaded dinner with the parents, and the second spy. Things are looking bleak, but they surely can't get bleaker... can they? Expect a very awkward prince at a very awkward party in 46!

As always, friends, thanks for reviewing, favouriting, following, and, of course, reading along.

~ GWA

NTT: "Like, he's a bad boy, a spicy fajita during a romantic date, whereas Prince Barnabas is lumpy porridge on a rainy Monday morning."


	46. The Families' Banquet, Part 1

_Two spies._

 _Two._

"That's impossible."

Another tear rolled down Ji-Yu's cheek. "It's not. It's truth. Jun, I… I'm so sorry."

But the words weren't registering. He _refused_ to, after all he'd been through.

There was one. Her name was Skylar Davenport. She had no comrades, no allies amongst her enemies. She worked alone.

But the starkness of both his mother's words and Gemima Chi's face sold the truth more than anything. Even as his traitorous heart began to beat faster, faster, faster as the weight of the news travelled through his body like lead, he repeated the implausibility of it all. It was false. A lie. Unreal.

"But… but it can't be…" he whispered at first, then he found himself yelling. Screaming, almost. "It can't be! How is it possible? She just… I found her! The spy! We know who she is!"

"Our sources have returned that they're still receiving intel from right in the heart of the palace," said Gemima. Cold, cool, but teetering on the edge of a tremor. "Someone's blowing whistles."

"Then it's staff!" Roy said. "Not a Selected. Like Acketeer!"

"The details are too precise. The rebels know what the Selected are doing, day in and day out. They know about the party we've held in honour of your aunt and grandparents. They know it is pink-themed."

How could they _know?_ From the other side of the country?

He ran a hand through his hair, scalp peeling with sweat. "I… this is impossible…"

Would he have to go through it all again? The hidden agenda of his Selection? The pain of betrayal?

A gun to his forehead?

He fell back against the wall as the memories assaulted him from every angle. Shut his eyes, but the nightmares were still there. That barrel, pressed to his skin in waiting. Newton's Wife, taunting him, finger caressing the trigger.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, spiralling him back to earth. Rudy. He'd been quiet during the whole ordeal. "I'm sorry, though it means nothing," he said, but he didn't lose his confidence. "We can get through this."

Ji-Yu wiped her face with the sleeve of her old _hanbok._ It came away wet. "Yes, we must." She drew in a shaky breath, cheeks blotchy. "God, even if we have to do this whole charade again, we're going to find this damn spy, and kill her the moment we know for sure."

Instead of playing the waiting game, they were hunters, sniffing out their prey.

"How're we even going to find her?"

"Are you still in possession of the Board?" asked Gemima.

"Yes," answered Rudy. "We still have it, though with the intention of repurposing it to help His Highness with his decision of whom he intends to choose at the end of the Selection."

"Scrap that idea," Ji-Yu said. Furious, hard as steel. "No. If we have to stalk the hallways, meet every day and compare notes, then we damn well will. This spy isn't making it another step further."

Even the newfound strength in the room, the willingness to seek justice no matter how difficult, didn't help straighten his spine. He leant his head against the wall, wishing, for once, he could be somewhere else. Someone else.

One of his Elite wanted him dead.

Nine girls, now. Just nine. His task should've been easier than ever.

But now he was more attached to all of them than before. Perhaps, like Roy for Delia, forging stronger feelings than just chemistry and infatuation.

"And Dad?" he spoke, his voice brittle with emotion. "What about Dad? Do we tell him?"

Rudy and Gemima looked at Ji-Yu. In the fragment of time, her face warred with conflict. Telling him, over not. How would he react to such news? Was it worth it?

"No," she said at last. "At least, not yet. This time of year… it's… not good for him. I don't want to stress him further."

Diantha's death, a son not yet recovered, and another undercover rebel. It would destroy him, like it was already decaying Roy from the inside out.

"We'll wait until her death anniversary has passed," continued Ji-Yu. "Hopefully the spy will be eliminated by then. And we can get back to our lives without looking over our shoulders."

His life pre-Selection seemed a distant time and place, far from here and now.

"We need a plan. We need a way to kick-start our search." Ji-Yu searched everyone for answers. "Ideas?"

How many traps and stakeouts would they have to set to find more dead ends again? It was going to be a repeat of last time, with boundless hints and endless suspicion but no real substance until the very last moment.

Roy hadn't suspected Skye. Roy hadn't suspected Skye's mother.

 _Her mother._ It leapt into his brain, an idea swelling from it.

"Mimi's parents' dinner," he said. He quickly explained Mimi's idea to throw a dinner and invite the Elite's families. "If Skye's mom was part of the rebel cause, who's to say _rebel_ doesn't run in the new spy's family?"

Even though the idea was bright and shiny and full of hope, it sunk a realisation low through his gut that settled settling like fungi in wet soil. Not only did he have to worry about making a good impression, he also had to watch out for spy signs, in Selected _and_ parent.

Ji-Yu nodded. "For the first time, I'm grateful for Mimi's spontaneity. We'll organise this… parents' dinner for next week and use it to spot for any clues, any holes in the Selected's stories. Or any signs they're not as wholesome as they seem. Have the guard focused around the evening, though I want patrols posted in every wing, and our offices heavily guarded." She turned to Gemima. "Can you have that arranged?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Good. Rudy," she turned to him, "see to it that Roy has bulletproof armour underneath his clothing during the evening, and that you keep watch over him as well."

Rudy swallowed loudly. "I will shadow as required, though I know our officers will be more observant."

"Officers tend to focus on physical signs of trouble," said Ji-Yu, "but I know you can see distress by even the minutest shift of Roy's expression. Keep an eye out."

Rudy nodded. "I will."

It was a nice thing to say, and it made Roy smile, just a smidge.

"Excellent. And, Jun," Ji-Yu's gaze landed on him. "Stay vigilant. If anything becomes even remotely suspicious, you know the drill."

"I know the drill," he repeated.

"And," she inhaled a long breath, "try to have fun. I know… I know this might end up being pivotal for our next actions, but… this is still your Selection. Still your chance to find happiness."

It seemed so in his reach, too, like he could just take it and make it his, but each time he splayed his hands to grab it, it would slip between his fingers like droplets of sand.

Maybe the kidnapping was too fresh for a little hope right now, but he could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and he was walking towards it. Slowly, but towards it nonetheless.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Bulletproof vests were not comfortable for dinner evenings.

Roy tugged at the armour that clung to his vest, thick and padded and chafing his shoulders. Light enough to fit under his suit but still heavy across his chest, as was the weight of his task this evening. Hopefully no one would spot it underneath his silk shirt and the floral suit Mimi had bought him from Milan in Italy, hanging from his bedposts.

It was one thing to have dinner with the Selected. Another entirely to have dinner with their parents.

The idea of the Selection was for the girls to meet his parents, but now the tables were turning, along with his stomach. What did he talk about? Was he supposed to be cool and chill, or rigid and traditional? Be himself, or be the best version of himself?

One parent would possibly become his own. One parent possibly wanted him dead.

It was a rollercoaster of nerves and adrenaline that kept his focus acute on watching Rudy sweep away the last barbs of lint from suit and trying not to fuss with the armour.

"If you sweat anymore," Rudy said, not even looking at him, "your clothes are going to slide off your body."

"Sorry." Roy dabbed the back of his hand to his head – it came away oily. "Just the whole _future in-laws_ and _rebel mom_ thing combined is keeping me on my toes."

Roy gazed wistfully to his bathroom door. They'd taken off the eliminated Selected girls to leave only the ten Elite, and Sherlock's face had been crossed out, but the little notes remained: Regina's writing habits. Lilly's argument with Eulalia. Luna's ability to speak Korean. Nothing substantial, but suspicious enough to hold Roy's attention.

He'd also noted all of the girls that liked to play walkabout without anyone's knowledge – Camilla, Delia, Elise – though he suspected all of them, at one point, had forgone rules to hunt for the elusive secret passages.

"We have a few hours before the dinner. Please relax. And just think, this'll be the one of the last public engagements you have before your birthday, and then it's Christmas and New Year." He backed from the suit, satisfied it was clear of lint. "We all deserve a break."

"At this point I think I deserve a vacation, a spa treatment and a full-body therapeutic massage."

Rudy laughed. "For once, I'm inclined to agree with you."

"That's a first."

"And it's probably a last."

Roy pulled off the armour and tucked it besides his bed. Sinking down in his armchair, he spread out his arms and shut his eyes. Beyond his exhaustion he could see little images flickering into his head unwarranted. Guns and chairs and cold, dark rooms. It was a fight to push them away.

"You think tonight will yield anything important?"

"I don't know," said Rudy. "It's hard to say. We've already established that the rebels like their elaborate shows of power."

An event like this one was perfect. And they were practically inviting external parties into their home.

"But they'd be foolish to do anything tonight. Surrounded by guards and innocent people. Clarity and Rainerd will be there to report everything to the press. Her Majesty has even had temporary cameras installed into the ballroom."

It hadn't stopped them before. The fashion show, the Bonfire Ball. Why would it now?

A knock peeled open his eyes.

Durante's voice called, "Lady Yuriko Sato for you, sir."

Roy's heart buzzed with sudden excitement. He jumped up from his chair. "Come in!"

Yuriko looked the same as before she'd left. Pin-straight hair, tied into a high knot and glued with hair spray and glitter. Her lithe frame had been confined within a gaudy teal tutu with the corset inlaid with faux jewels. Still, her air of tranquillity eased into the room with her quaint, but genuine, smile.

Roy sped forwards to hug her. "Kiko! I missed you!"

She petted his back and let go. "It's good to see you too, Your High— ahem, _Roy,"_ she said. "And you, too, Rudy. I thought I'd come see you before my rehearsal."

"How are you? Are you excited to perform?"

"Absolutely." She clapped her hands together. "My life has been completely different since the Selection. Now my circus is always sold out. It's been a wonder going on tour."

"Glad you could make time for humble old me," Roy said with a wink.

"Of course. After… the news…" Even her tutu seemed to wilt. "I'm so sorry about what happened."

Part of him wanted to blot out the day, but it was always constant, sitting at the back of his mind like a quiet animal, just waiting for the right moment to turn feral. Those images crawled back into his mindscape, and again he shooed them away.

"It's okay. I'm doing okay."

"That's good. I hope my performance today will help lift your spirits, even for a moment. Erm." She glanced at Rudy, then at Durante. "I'm glad your… situation is over with, at least."

He'd almost forgot she knew about the spy, was the only Selected to know before Skye's grand reveal.

"It's okay, they both know," Roy said. "Thanks, but… it's not. There's another one."

Yuriko's gasp was sharp. " _Another?_ How?"

"When you find out, let me know."

Her hands clasped together in contemplation. "I will keep on lookout for anything suspicious. I might not be much help, but… hopefully I won't be considered a threat. Maybe she will confide in me."

There was a spy amongst the Selected, but now Roy had an insider of his own. Spy against spy. Almost ironic, considering.

"Thank you, that'd be great. Just let me know about anything – no matter how minor it seems."

"As minor as dismissing door guards?"

As bitter a reminder it was, Roy couldn't help but laugh. "Yep. As minor as dismissing door guards."

They exchanged another hug before she left to prepare. Roy had only sampled her back-flip at the Midknight dinner – he couldn't wait to see her at ease with herself in the circus act. Doing what she was good at, what she loved.

He wished he could be like that. Even for a moment.

And a few hours of worrying later, and the night finally arrived.

The ballroom had been converted to house several round, clothed tables, each marked by name and adorned with candle-lit centrepieces. The stage at the front had been partitioned with a red curtain, hiding all that happened behind, but the people were already sitting down to make themselves comfortable, or helping themselves to the champagne being passed around by staff. Four tables in all, six if the council and his family counted, with a spare seat for Roy open at every table with a Selected.

He had to move around between each course to interact with every single person. Mimi's idea.

Mimi flitted towards him when he was announced. Her ball gown was a hot pink and textured with polyester fabric roses and snapdragons. Garish, but so extremely Mimi. She looked like this was _her_ party, and everyone else was just a hapless guest lucky to be in her presence.

"Late to your own do? Fashionable! And doesn't that suit I bought look great on you! Must've taken all that time for you to get ready!" she cooed. "These girls are in for a show. All of the parents have already settled, too. I've been talking to Delia's family – they _love_ their room! I think her sister is excited to stay the night!"

Talking to Delia. Right. After that fiasco last week where she confessed her love to him, he'd been avoiding her since. It was too awkward, ballooning in his chest, and now he had to not only talk to her, but her family, too. Did _they_ know she was in love with him?

"That's great," he said unenthusiastically. It was a wealth of colour and buzz, almost overwhelming. "Where do I start?"

"We have a photo studio to the side, but you should probably meet everyone before snapping some juicy pics. You know. Politeness and good manners and all that. Why don't you start… there?"

She pointed to the closest family – or couple, more like. Elise was chattering away with a woman, presumably her mother, and almost erratically gesturing to the environment. Only names were included in the Selected form, so he had no faces to ascribe each name.

Roy inhaled a long breath, but the air only tasted of his sweat. Great. Not even his deodorant could save him. He stepped away from Mimi, who piped "Good luck!" before going off to regale Maeve's lot with some fantastic shopping trip.

"Good evening," Roy said politely.

Elise jumped and turned around. "Oh, gosh! You scared me!"

The woman tensed suddenly when she turned around, before curtseying. "Your Highness. It's good to meet you. Donna Belmont. I'm Elise's mother." She was the spitting image of Elise, ash brown hair and dull blue eyes.

No father. He was obviously not in the picture, for whatever reason.

Elise just guffawed. "Oh, Mom, don't be so nervous. It's just _Roy."_

"Just Roy agrees," said Roy. "I'm as nervous as you, Lady Belmont."

"Donna, please," she said, with a slight laugh. "I'm not posh enough for _lady."_

"Yeah. _Lady Belmont_ is her daughter," said Elise wryly. "And I'm wringing it out for all it's worth."

Donna fixed her with a teasing look.

"Enjoying the party?" he said. It was in his bank of small-talk topics.

"It's to die for!" said Elise, though the question was more directed at Donna. "The ballroom is beautiful, and the decorations— it's like a fairy tale! And I can't wait for Yuriko's performance." She clasped her mother's hands. "Do you remember me telling you about Yuriko? She was the acrobat?"

"Yes, I remember. You liked her a lot from your letters."

"Have you seen her back-flip?" asked Roy.

" _Back-flip?_ Noooo?" said Elise. "She always said she'd show us her acrobatics but never got the chance. Katrina said it was pretty cool."

And that was the highest form of compliment one could glean from Katrina Berg. "I've seen her do it. It's awesome. I think she'll be amazing on stage."

"I wish _I_ could do flips and stuff." She sighed dreamily. "Or that I could dance. I would be like the princess in all the adventures."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "You? Dancing? I see you more slaying dragons."

"I mean, I can do both, right?"

Roy just laughed. "Maybe dancing… with dragons?"

"With a hot dragon prince!" Elise exclaimed.

Donna just roared with laughter – infectious, so much so, that Roy's stomach hurt holding it in.

"Don't suppose you know any dragon princes yourself, Your Highness?" asked Donna.

Roy made wiggly fingers. "You have unmasked me. I _am_ a hot dragon prince."

Elise and Donna laughed, and it was good. It made him feel… good. Weightless, nearly. Nothing like something as silly as a hot dragon prince to open the conversation.

It wasn't on his bank of small-talk conversations, but on Elise, anything seemed to work.

He tipped his head. "It's been great meeting you, Donna," he said.

"Thank you," she said, wiping a tear away. "Please come sit at our table when you can."

When he walked away, he distinctly heard Donna say to Elise, "There goes my mascara."

Good way start to the evening. Hopefully everyone else would follow suit.

"Hey, Roy!"

Maeve's voice, distinctive over the din. He turned to face her voice and drew close to her table. Her parents were seated already with Mimi was hovering over them, lips moving animatedly. Maeve waved him over, best dressed in her deep blue one piece – clearly far more extravagant than the outfits of her parents.

She was a Two now. They were still Sevens.

"You just get here?" she asked.

"About five minutes ago," he said. "This is your family?"

The man and the woman shot to stand, nearly toppling Mimi over. The man, her father, with brown skin and a wisp of dark hair, smiled so brightly he pulled all the wrinkles on his face.

"Prince Roy," he greeted, offering his hand. "I'm Fierro Reynolds, Maeve's father. It's great to meet you in person. Maeve and Lady Mimi have told me so much about you."

His grip was solid. "Good things, I hope?"

"I only have good things to tell!" Mimi insisted with a laugh.

"I know, right?" Maeve snorted. "There's hardly a bad bone in you. Well, except maybe the partying, but you've sort of put that behind you—"

"Maeve," the woman chided, skin a pale white. "That's not at all appropriate. Apologise to His Highness and Lady Kim."

Maeve's cheeks went from the natural rosy red to a sickly pale. He'd never seen her… react like that, before.

"Sorry," she mumbled, suddenly quiet.

Mimi just cringed at him. Luckily, no one was looking at her.

"It was a joke. I know," Roy said, trying to diffuse the situation.

The woman's smile puckered. "Of course." He didn't miss the flicker of disapproval – for him or for Maeve, he'd never know. "Cosette, Your Highness. It's an honour to meet—"

"I got it!"

A boy came to halt in front of them, brandishing a paper crown like it was made of real gold. A cut across the main arch made it look rather miserable in comparison to the real thing. His face went whiter than any ghost.

"Daniel," said Fierro. "Meet Her Majesty's sister and the prince."

Roy waved. "Hello."

Then Daniel burst into tears.

Mimi bit her tongue to resist laughing aloud as Cosette pulled him close, muttering, "Oh, for goodness sake, pull yourself together."

Two boys came running up behind. One was identical to Daniel – same red hair, pale skin, with so little resemblance to the Maeve that Roy had first wondered whether they'd stumbled to the wrong family. The other boy looked more like Cosette than Maeve.

"Oh!" Mimi braced her hands against her knees. "And what're your names, young boys?"

The other twin completely ignored her question and said, "You're the queen's sister?"

"That's right!" Mimi said.

He looked at Roy. "And you're the prince?"

He'd made one cry and the other fascinated. What a weird contrast. "Yeah. That's me." It came out lame and anti-climactic.

"Then where are your crowns?"

"I don't have a crown, to my chagrin," said Mimi, nearly draping herself over the table with feigned hurt.

"And mine is in the royal vault, with all my other precious jewels. I only bring it out on special occasions."

He huffed. "Am _I_ not a special occasion?"

"Now, now," Fierro said. "Be respectful to Prince Roy."

"Introduce yourselves to Lady Kim, please," said Cosette.

Neither obliged. The other boy become so enraptured with the floor that he jumped when Maeve patted his shoulder.

"The twins are Daniel and Mies. They're adopted, er, obviously, since they don't look like me or Dad," she filled in for them. "And this is Charlie, my cousin."

"If Maeve wins, does _she_ get a crown?" crowed Mies. "And then will _I_ get one too?"

Mimi sighed. " _I_ didn't get so much as a title when my sister was crowned queen."

"Well, _I_ want a crown," said Mies. "I will have Maeve make me one!"

"Mies," hushed Cosette in a tired voice. She fluttered her hand away. "Go and play with the boys. We're have an adult discussion."

Mies, Daniel and Charlie were eager to obey. Mies snatched the paper crown from Charlie and bolted off, Daniel and Charlie quick to pursue him.

"Apologies for them," said Cosette. "Children. You know how they are."

"I don't have any children, so I wouldn't know," said Mimi. She roped Roy's shoulder and mussed his haircut. "Already have enough trouble with this one."

Fierro laughed, but Cosette pursed her lips. "I… see…"

Even Mimi deflated slightly. But she clapped her hands together and grinned, hiding it well. "It's been lovely to meet you both, Mr and Mrs Reynolds. Must dash though!"

Roy shot her a desperate look. _Don't leave me here._ But Mimi only winked and gave him a non-subtle nudge as she passed, moving off to dazzle Camilla's family with her words.

"I hope my daughter has been behaving?" said Cosette, dragging Roy back to the present.

The memory of Maeve ripping up the dance floor with her glorious twerking skills filled his brain, and he mushed his lips together to stop himself from laughing. Maeve must've jumped to the same thought, because her eyes glittered with that same amusement.

But she didn't say anything. No boom of laughter. Whatever joy she took from the memory dissipated quickly enough that she stoically waited for an answer, eying Cosette, Fierro and Roy in rapid succession.

"Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent," said Roy. "Maeve's one of my most well-behaved Selected."

Not quite true, not quite a lie. Something to sit in the limbo between.

"I dance good," she blurted suddenly.

Cosette whipped to face her. "You dance _well,"_ she corrected, before focusing on Roy. "You have danced together?"

"Er." Sweat pooled in Roy's shoes. "Maeve and I have… danced… together, yes."

"He was really good," she said. "I was almost beaten—er, _bested._ "

"Because it was… ranked…"

"And he had to cut—" She halted. "Cut— er—"

" _Cut_ the day short, because I was so exhausted! Aha!"

Shock rippled across Cosette's features, far more than appropriate. "You bested His Highness… in _ballroom_ _dancing?"_

It was murder stopping himself from laughing. "Yes. Ballroom dancing. That's it."

Fierro raised an eyebrow. "I love you sweetheart, but ballroom dancing? I just can't imagine you doing it." He looked between them. "And you're nearly a whole head taller than His Highness. How did you dip her?"

"Maeve is tenacious," said Roy. Not a lie. "And so am I." A slight lie.

"I'll be on _Dancing with the Stars_ before you know it," she said, grinning.

Cosette didn't seem pleased with that comment. "It's not becoming of a Two to appear on _Dancing with the Stars,"_ she said. "But it's good to see you've found common ground. Will you be taking my daughter on a date at any point?"

Maeve gasped. "Mom!"

"Lady Kim also seemed keen for you two to mix."

Of course she would. "I— er, yeah. In time. Soon."

"That's good." Her gaze seared into Maeve. "I hope she can show you some of her ladylike qualities."

 _Ladylike_ and _Maeve_ were practically antonyms of one another. Roy nearly dropped his mouth open, seeking Maeve's eyes, but hers were rigidly set upon her mother's, flames consuming her irises in an anger Roy had never seen in her before.

"Right. Erm." He swallowed thickly. "Thank you for meeting me."

Cosette turned rigid at the dismissal. "Oh, yes, of course."

"You'll sit at our table, yes?" Fierro said. "During one of the courses? Lady Mimi said something about it?"

"Yes, that's correct. I'll be joining you again then."

He waved a small goodbye to Maeve, whose spirit was dampened like she'd been snuffed with a wet paper towel. No more anger, only vulnerability.

He left them behind to whatever was brewing, but made it six steps before someone caught his arm. Fierro.

"Ah, apologies, Your Highness," he said. "I just… I thought you should know, Maeve's favourite dish in the whole wide world is jambalaya – the regular kind, but she also loves dishes from the South Coast of Midston. The traditional stuff from old Louisiana."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"No, no, thank you. You've… really transformed our lives." He smiled and tipped his head. "She really enjoys it here, you know, my little Myve, and I think you play a big part of that."

His heart fizzled with affection. Just knowing he was even part of the reason for her happiness… it somehow made the spy business worth it.

 _The spy business._ He swallowed. Hadn't been paying attention to either of the last encounters. Though Cosette was frosty, she didn't strike him as Spy Mom material. Neither Fierro, nor Donna Belmont. Neither had Maeve or Elise for the spy herself.

"I'm glad to hear it," he croaked, throat suddenly parched. "If you'll excuse me."

Fierro let him go, and Roy, for all he was worth, nearly sped in the opposite direction. _Should_ he be keeping notes? Searching for signs? Talking to new people was enough to keep his mind occupied without having to figure out whether they were spy material, too.

"You haven't embarrassed yourself, yet? That must be a record."

In perfect timing to free him from his thoughts, Katrina wormed her way to his side, arms crossed. Bow hairstyle back to normal, with a miniature veil floating from the tie, she towered over him in tall heels and a pink tulle dress.

"I _can_ go parties without embarrassing myself, thank you."

"I'm surprised you're not stumbling and staggering all over the place, given how sweaty you are."

Oh, damn. She noticed. Who else had keen eyes like hers?

"It's like parents' evening, and you're in the hot seat."

"The child is the focus on parents' evening, and I don't have a child," Roy said.

Katrina scoffed. "You _are_ the child, moron. Everything you say and do is being judged by these people. Deciding whether you're suitable for their daughters. Comparing it to your performed princely elegance on the Capital Report."

"I'm surprised you think I have _any_ princely elegance."

"It's there, just hanging by the thinnest of threads."

"… I mean, I'll take that," he said. "What have _you_ been doing this evening?"

Dare he ask. "I've been mingling, of course. _I_ wasn't late, so I've already managed to meet nearly everyone's families or guardians. Except…" She scanned the room. " _Them."_

 _Them_ turned out to be Regina and her parents. They stood mostly to themselves in the corner, refusing to meet anyone's gaze, though Regina kept gesturing to her fellow Selected with muted glee.

Katrina sighed. "Listen, I don't _hate_ Regina, okay? She's weird, that's for sure, but the way her parents are just… standing there, doing nothing to interact with everyone else, occasionally pursing their lips at passers-by like we're ants to their gods… it's _weirder."_

He smirked. "Ironic, coming from you?"

"I only judge people I know, albeit vaguely." Her shoulders pulled up. "Come on. You have to agree with me, here."

Looking at them more thoroughly, this was a rare time he did. The woman perused the crowds with a disdainful shake of her head, and the father's body rumbled with the occasional grunt of disapproval.

"I have to go talk to them," Roy said.

"Pffft," said Katrina. "Good luck."

"Don't you want to _socialise_ with everyone?"

"Not if _everyone_ includes _them."_ She waved him away and sauntered off. "Have fun, Fitzroy."

Great. Swallowing his pride, he marched over.

Instantly, the Landowskis' demeanours changed. The woman's smile perked up like a weary morning soul downing a shot of coffee, and the man's teeth were so pearly they could blind.

Regina whirled around. Typically, she wore yellow, this time in the form of a skirt, bow around the waist, and a polka-dot shirt on top.

"Hello, Roy. I was just talking about you," she said, then gestured to her parents. "This is my Mom and Dad." He didn't miss how controlled her eccentricity was.

"Please, just call me Willemina," said the woman, curtseying so long it was awkward. "What a pleasure it is to finally meet you in the flesh. You're not so different from the television."

He wasn't sure whether that was a compliment, but if she was referring to his _princely elegance,_ he was definitely going to take it. "Thank you, ma'am."

By her impressed smile, she did like the _ma'am_ addition.

"I'm Regina's father, Dr Jameson Landowski," said the man, offering a hand.

His grip was concrete, and he held on for a smidgen too long. Roy felt an icky sensation crawl up his arm. "Pleasure to meet you, too, sir. What's your field?"

"Psychology, Your Highness. Specifically, I study decision-making processes and behaviours. Do you have an interest in the subject?"

Even the words wanted to put him to sleep. Roy swallowed. "I've… never heard of it before."

That disapproval, lasting too long to be an intrusive thought. "It's fascinating stuff, really. Our minds undergo a series of steps to make a decision, though there are several theories dictating the sorts of steps we take. Personally, I don't believe in the strict cost-benefit analysis—"

"Okay, Dad," said Regina, face flat. "We get it."

His nostrils flared. "Regina, you would do well _not_ to interrupt me. What sort of example does that set to His Highness about your behaviour?"

Roy's stomach sank. Cosette had been icy, but not downright confrontational. Half of him wanted to melt into a puddle and slide away, the other half wanted to turn back time and backtrack slowly in Katrina's wake.

Regina didn't seem surprised at his words. "His Highness just doesn't want to be bombarded by knowledge he's too polite to refuse." She turned to Roy. "Isn't that right?"

Now _all_ of him wanted to turn back time. He did _not_ want to involve himself in this, and a stone formed in his gut. Thank god for prince training – a polite smile overcame his horror. "It sounds interesting, Dr Landowski, sir, but it's not quite my thing."

He puffed, his reedy frame tremoring. "Why didn't you just _say_ so?"

 _Because politeness, duh._ Luckily, Will stepped in.

"I'm sure His Highness is already busy with the country." Her frown was still somehow like a smile. "And that awful spy business. I am deeply troubled that something like that could happen to you. Truly, an abominable thing for the rebels to do."

"Yes. Thank you for your sympathy." However paper-thin.

From her pocket, Wil produced a card – a _business_ card? She handed it to him. _Willemina Landowski, Lawyer._

"Should you ever need a professional attorney, please contact me. I'd be more than happy to help you, _pro bono."_

Roy stared at the card, flabbergasted she had the confidence to hand him one in the first place. This was an event about the Selected, about _Regina,_ not about networking.

"Mom, _please,_ not here," Regina pressed, seeming to have the same thoughts.

But Will just flashed her a look of resignation. "You'll have to learn soon, Regina, that every moment is an opportunity."

Pocketing the card and remembering to throw it out later, Roy mumbled a weak, "Thank you." Was it too short a first conversation to leave? Probably, but Roy didn't care. "If you'll excuse me."

He left before Will could preposition him further, before Jameson could shove more unwanted knowledge down his throat, before either could berate Regina for saying five words or less.

If he chose her as his One, if he married her, those people would become his step-parents. _Family._ A chill rode up his spine at the thought; anything had to be better. A spy was one thing, but in the end, it was short-term, whereas he intended his marriage to be for life, and that included the in-laws, too.

Could he stand Will and Jameson for more than a few minutes? A _no_ rolled around his head in an instant, but his mind slid then to Regina. What did this mean for her in the competition?

Roy saw Merrick in the crowd, alone, surveying everyone with his unusual quietness. Even more unusual that he was halfway through a glass of sherry, typically Ji-Yu's favourite alcoholic beverage, only sipping it but frequently. Roy came to a stop by his father's side, but Merrick didn't even notice him.

"Earth to Dad?"

He didn't jump, only acknowledged his presence with a short glance his way. "Ah, Roy. Sorry. Are you enjoying the evening?"

Probably still mourning the loss of Diantha Schreave. Roy rolled his shoulders and admitted, "It's had its ups and downs," he said. "Have you met Regina's parents?"

"No, why?" He suddenly twinkled with a spark. "Are they really nice?"

"Opposite, actually. They don't even seem to like Regina."

"Oh. That's… terrible." Merrick deflated. "Sorry. I just… I remembered meeting your grandparents for the first time. I was so nervous, but your mother— she was so reassuring that I had nothing to worry about, but of course I panicked. And then Hwan and Young-Sook turned out to be the nicest people I'd ever met." He smiled faintly. "I just hoped you'd have that, too."

Roy had to laugh. "I can't believe you were worried about meeting _Oni_ and _Oji."_

"I know," said Merrick. "I saw your grandfather about five minutes ago, trying to balance teaspoons on his nose. And your grandmother was taking pictures of him."

"They're wild." No wonder they'd made Mimi, yet it was a wonder they'd made Ji-Yu. "Was… was Mother nervous about meeting Grandmother Diantha and Grandfather Galloway?"

His amusement fell. "Yes."

Short and curt. No stories attached. Not like Merrick at all. Talking about Diantha now wasn't his wisest move, and he tried to perk up. "I bet she became less nervous as the Selection went on."

Merrick said nothing for a few moments, but eventually contributed, "My parents were very different from your mother's, son."

Oh. "Okay."

"Sorry," he said, petting Roy's shoulder. "I don't mean to spread melancholy. Go, enjoy the party. Meet some of the other families. Hopefully," that faint smile accompanied by a wink, "one of them will welcome you like your _Oni_ and _Oji_ did for me."

Roy idled by his side for a moment, but Merrick was clearly done talking – he finished his sherry, popped the glass down on a passing waiter's tray, and moved off. Roy didn't like this mourning Merrick, but there was nothing he could do. Taking his advice, he ambled to the nearest family that he hadn't met yet.

Avianna's.

No parents – whether they were here tonight or absent entirely, Roy couldn't be sure. Avianna was only seventeen, so they had to have _some_ guardianship around. The girl proclaiming loudly to Avianna was shorter, and it was already hard to be shorter than Avianna.

"— was _totally_ the hotter one. Like, he's a bad boy, a spicy fajita during a romantic date, whereas Prince Barnabas is lumpy porridge on a rainy Monday morning."

Avianna frowned. "Trust me, if you'd met Prince Alex back then, you would _not_ be calling him a _spicy fajita._ My friend Alisa would object on Barney's behalf. _"_ She paused. "Also, just _what?"_

He came up behind them. "Good evening, ladies."

Both twirled around. The girl – a sister, no doubt, but now he couldn't tell her age – opened her mouth, before shutting it again. Like Avianna, her hair was black and curled into a princess style, with heavy eyeliner and lipstick.

"You're right: he _is_ hot with short hair."

Both Roy and Avianna went bright red. Roy's scalp prickled with self-consciousness. "Er—"

"I'm so _sorry_ about my sister, Roy," said Avianna, shooting the girl brittle daggers. "Penelope doesn't have a brain sometimes."

He wasn't sure whether to feel insulted on behalf of his previously beloved long hair. "That's okay. It's nice to meet you, Lady DeLaurence."

"Lady Hathers, actually." Penelope grinned. "But you can call me by _my_ first name too, if you want."

Avianna went red again. "Stop that, it's embarrassing."

"What? You haven't been on a date with him since the mass elimination! You're not even making much of an effort!" She made a hair-flicking motion, even though her hair was in an updo. "If you're not going to go for it, _I_ might as well."

Struggling to work it out himself, he said, "May I ask how old you are, Penelope?"

She pushed out her chest. "Fourteen."

 _Fourteen?_ "Oh." Now he felt sick.

"It's the make-up. And my height," said Avianna. "I don't blame you for thinking she was older."

Penelope huffed. "I'm still mature! And I can still flirt with hot older men!"

This was a whole new different feeling to the Regina's family's version of _uncomfortable company._ Two people approached them, then – a woman and a man, and Roy hoped to god they'd rein in Avianna's sister.

The woman had a glass of champagne in her hand, and she tipped her head at Roy. "Your Highness. Thank you for taking care of my daughter so well."

"Avianna is a wonderful person, Lady… Hathers?"

"DeLaurence," she corrected. "But, please, Clarissa is just fine. My husband is Hathers. Tristan Hathers."

Some step-family involved, then. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You too," said Tristan. Upstanding in a nice suit and tie, but face veiled with sweat.

"What is your line of work?"

Tristan made a flat face, but Clarissa answered for him. "My husband is a banker. I manage my daughters and their assets, especially now that Avianna has become an Elite."

Wasn't Avianna a maid, a Six, before she was invited to the Selection? Even with a step-father, Avianna would've been elevated to at least Four, Three if banker Tristan made above a certain threshold of salary per annum.

He resisted asking about it. "I see. And are you still in school, Penelope?"

She snorted. "Unfortunately." Her expression became unyielding. "But I have to stay in school if I want to become like Quiin Janieve."

"Who's that?"

All three looked at Avianna, and Avianna sheepishly said, "Famous fashion designer. Women's luxurious fashions. Also, my client before I became a Selected."

"I'm surprised you never told His Highness about her, Avianna," said Clarissa, now regarding Roy. "She's friendly with their entire family, she's been there so long."

Avianna's lips twisted. It wasn't a friendly note of Clarissa's words. "Never got 'round to it."

"I would've invited her to make pieces for the fashion show, if I'd known," said Roy. "But no worries. I'm sure my mother or Katrina would now."

Avianna grinned. "Katrina and I have pored over Janieve's photoshoots. She knows."

Sometimes he wondered if the Katrina he knew was the same Katrina the Selected knew, or some sort of evil twin that broke through the crusts of hell just to plague him.

"I told Avianna to ask her to give me an internship or something, but she refused to ever mention it," Penelope muttered.

"I _worked_ for her. It's not _that_ friendly."

"You should've at least _tried,_ Avianna," said Clarissa. "The worst she could've said was _no."_

"The worst she could've done was fire me for being unprofessional," Avianna said, with sudden irritation. "That would've meant _you'd_ have to start work again."

Clarissa massaged her temple. "Oh, _please,_ darling. I'm only trying to help."

Avianna just made a face – not anger, nor annoyance, but now just a complete loss for anything to say and feel. Roy would've sidled away at that moment, but instead, Penelope roped her arm through Roy's and said, "Your cousins aren't here anymore, are they?"

"They departed two weeks ago."

"Boo," she said, genuinely disappointed. "But that doesn't matter. Can you show me around the floor?"

There wasn't much to show, but immediately, Avianna perked up. "Oh, no." She roped through Roy's other arm. "I'm coming, too. Have to keep an eye on you."

"You're just mad that I might steal him from you," she said, grinning widely.

 _Trust me, no way can you possibly steal me,_ he thought, shuddering to his core.

Avianna held his arm tighter, but still with the gentleness that Penelope lacked. Her perfume wafted into his nose, sending a spritz of coolness down his spine.

" _You're_ just mad I actually got Selected and went on a date with a prince."

"Penelope," said Tristan stiffly. "Please don't accost the prince."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Ugh, _fine."_

She let go, and Avianna took the moment to gently lead him away from her family. He warred between a mixture of amusement and relief.

"Sorry about them," said Avianna, sincerely contrite. "My step-dad is so awkward. Mom is… Mom. And Penelope has zero filter."

"Trust me, not the worst people I've met." _Not the worst I've even met today._ Roy couldn't help but smirk. "You think I look hot with short hair?"

She blushed again. "Yeah, fine, okay – you look hot with short hair. But you looked hot with _long_ hair, too. You're just… hot."

Whatever arrogance he'd clustered melted into his stomach, and another blush rose up on his face.

"T-Thanks."

Her time to look smug. "But this goes two ways. You think I'm hot, too."

Despite being half-sisters, Penelope and Avianna weren't so different after all. "And if I disagreed?"

"You'd be lying, because your blush says you agree."

"Touché."

"What are two hot people to do with themselves?"

He laughed at that.

"Hey, er," she started. "Remember what I said on our first date? That we should go again?"

He frowned. "I haven't even been on first dates with all my Elite, yet."

"Well, after that, when you have, I'll ask you again," she said. She spoke confidence, volumes of self-importance, but he detected that wisp of a tremor in her voice. "I'm only reminding you in case you've forgotten."

"Okay," he agreed. "It's… a date."

"Soon," she said.

"Your Highness, Lady Avianna," said a waiter, coming up to them both. "Please be seated. The first course is ready to begin."

When the waiter left, Avianna slid her arm down until her fingers brushed his. "Come sit at my table?"

"I will. I have a rota." Funny how weird that sounded. "I'll be with you for the entrée."

She flushed with excitement. "All right," she said, whispered, nearly. One last flirtatious smile eased onto her lips before Avianna bounced off to oversee Penelope and her family.

It took Roy a moment to realise his heart was hammering, to ease his erratic breaths, to finally head to the first table on his rota for appetisers. When he got there, dread struck in fast in the gut.

On one side, he had Luna, and that was a comfort in the chaos. But on the other side was Regina. And her parents.

And they were eagerly staring right at him.

* * *

 **A/N:** hurrdurr I forgot February only had twenty-eight days lmao, henceforth I did not post this last month. Would've posted yesterday but then I realised I had a massive structure problem from this to chapter 50 lol and proceeded to shift everything and edit until perf. I'm pretty psyched for what's in store, so I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Writing this was sooooo much fun. I knew I asked for family details of the Selected for a reason! Can I just say, why y'all so mean to your girls? Can we not just give them all happy families? Shoutout to **Ruby Casablanca** for Yuriko Sato, too! I missed her a lot so I brought her back for some spotlight time lol.

Today I finished writing Chapter 50. Can you believe it's been so long? Fifty chapters! Very excited for you to read the next four, since I've been planning this plot point pretty much since tsts' conception... fufufufufufu...

As always buds, thanks for reviewing, favouriting, following, and reading along.

~ GWA

NTT: "Asparagus is one of my favourite vegetables."


	47. The Families' Banquet, Part 2

Roy had never had so much trouble schooling his face into a neutral expression as he slid between Regina and Luna at the table for appetisers.

Regina's parents were still staring at him, bulging their bug-eyes with beseeching interest as he shucked his jacket and threw it over the chair back. It sent a crawling spindle down his spine, through his legs and all the way to his toes.

On the other side of him, Luna's voice stole his attention.

"You seem distracted."

"What? No. I'm fine. I'm okay."

"Yes, that doesn't sound distracted _at all."_

Next to her was Jasper Bellini-Torres – Luna's model brother. He'd been invited to model at Lana Tyler's Charity Fashion Show two months ago, even though it seemed longer than that, but not much had changed; same brown skin, wispy hair, impeccable dress sense.

He was seated next to what had to be his and Luna's younger sister and parents. The woman was staring at him too, though with less drooling eagerness than Regina's parents, and he locked eye contact and turned his body slightly to face her. Maybe when he'd chatted with the Bellini-Torres family, the Landowskis would leave him alone?

"I'm very much looking forward to the appetisers, Your Highness," she said.

"Myself as well," he said. At least eating food would distract him from conversation with the unwelcoming people to the left of him.

Luna clasped her hands together on top of the table until her knuckles had blanched. "Mom, Dad, Sofia, this is Prince Roy. Roy, this is my mom, Anamarie, my dad, Victor, and my younger sister, Sofia Bellini-Torres."

Jasper scoffed. "Where's my introduction?"

"Jasper, please," said Anamarie. "That's no way to greet royalty."

Neither Luna nor Jasper paid her any mind.

"Yes, please, dear sister Luna," said Jasper. "Would you be so kind as to introduce me to the most esteemed gentleman to your left?"

Luna rolled her eyes and made a face that said _do it yourself, dolt_. Roy straightened his tie.

"I am Jun Fitzroy, Roy, of the House Schreave, Crown Prince of Illéa, first of his name—"

"The Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons?"

Luna facepalmed. Anamarie just pursed her lips in resignation for a moment.

"Can I be a dragon mother?" piped Sofia. She was a smaller version of her older sister; brown skin, dark hair. But her eyes shone brightly like the stars in the night. "That sounds like fun!"

"That's a _Game of Thrones_ reference, Sofia," said Victor, cracking a wry smile. "And you ain't allowed to watch that until I'm dead."

Sofia wilted. "But Daddy!" Jasper and Luna both snickered to each other, and Anamarie kept pursing her lips.

All the siblings were definitely a mix of their parents in terms of looks, but personality wise, only Luna had taken after their mother. That coolness radiated from them both.

As they exchanged polite chatter, mostly meaningless enough that it went in one ear and out the other, a memory tickled in Roy's head. It was Anamarie had entered Luna into his Selection without her consent, that she didn't even know until her name popped onto screen. She'd had Luna learn Korean as well, just like the royal family. Like Luna had been born for here and now.

Was Anamarie another Newton's Wife, another rebel mother? Capable of forgoing everything and anything to implant a daughter spy into the Selection?

The waiters and waitresses bustled out of the double-doors and placed the first course at everyone's table. His stomach swooped low with dread when he saw asparagus salad – he'd thought at least food would offer him some respite from the awkward conversations he was going to suffer under the Landowskis.

When Merrick and Ji-Yu, on the head table at the back of the room, took their first bites, the people followed. Anamarie politely consumed up everything on the plate, as did Luna. Sofia only winced.

"Ew," she said.

"Greens are good for you, Sofia," Anamarie chided.

"Do dragons eat greens?"

Roy muttered under his breath, "Not even princes eat greens." Maybe he'd skip this course.

"I think it's delectable."

The voice forced him to look to the left side of the table. Jameson Landowski had pierced the stem of the asparagus to examine it like a patient on an operating table.

A deep, longing need _not_ to say anything roiled through Roy. Dare he get an admonishing for making conversation. Still, he quashed the feeling and said, "You enjoy it, Dr Landowski?"

"Absolutely," he said. "Asparagus is one of my favourite vegetables. Do you like them, Your Highness?"

Great. Not only was he a horrible person, he was also an asparagus worshipper. This man was becoming the villain in the tale of his life in every which way.

"It's… ambrosial," Roy forced out.

Luna gave him _that look._ The one where she knew he was talking crap.

Willemina Landowski said suddenly, "Asparagus isn't _my_ favourite, but I suppose it does have many health benefits."

Regina said nothing. The table atmosphere petered to polite mumbles even as the air thickened like stale paste.

Anamarie cleared her throat. "Respectfully, Prince Roy, do you know who I am?"

Roy whipped to face her. Oh, no, she wasn't someone important, was she?

Anamarie wasn't fazed. "It seems silly to withhold vital information. I am the mayor of Calgary."

He tried not to choke up the one bite of asparagus. _Mayor of Calgary?_ No wonder she'd so easily managed to enter Luna without her knowing – she had easy access to the Selection submission process.

 _Easy access._ And maybe that was what the spies had used.

"I— didn't know." He was arrested for much else to say.

"Yes, so I noticed," she said. "I have already greeted Their Majesties. Granted, you and I have never met in person, so I hope this is the start of a healthy political relationship, as well as a personal one, Your Highness."

"Er, yes, absolutely."

"Excellent. Perhaps one day you should come up to Calgary and participate in our town halls. We have many debates with the local Calgarians that may benefit you." Her smile stretched. "And no rebels."

"It's really not appropriate to talk about rebels now," said Luna. "Roy went through an ordeal with them, remember?"

"Of course I do," said Anamarie smoothly. "Then he will fit in perfectly in Calgary, where we lack such nuisance forces."

Something unexpected happened then – Luna's hand briefly squeezed his lower arm. Her bones were shaking, but her frown spoke of apologies, of contriteness. Her mother was crossing a line, and she was sorry on her behalf.

It wasn't the worst encounter he had today. Sure, Anamarie had embarrassed him a little, but it was better than anything the people to his left offered. Anamarie herself was sitting next to Willemina, so maybe the two could duke it out over who was more inappropriate to Roy at the party.

Why did everyone have such awful relationships with their parents, and more specifically, their mothers? Roy sank his seat, guilty for all the times he thought Ji-Yu was the Mother Dragon than anything kinder. He gave Luna a little smile as a show of comradery and Luna returned it. Even in these strange situations, he could count on her honesty, her loyalty, if nothing else.

Staff came to collect the empty (or not) plates of the appetiser, weaving between the tables like yarn through needle. Roy's cue to switch tables. He replaced his jacket and bowed his head to the seated.

"Thank you for your time, ladies, gentlemen. I must be off to the next table."

But Jameson crowed, "Wait, that's all the time you're giving us?"

"I have many people that I still have to meet with tonight, Dr Landow—"

"Perhaps if you weren't late, you could've met everyone beforehand, and not rushed off in this silly manner to other tables."

"Dad!" Regina exclaimed.

"We all deserve real, meaningful conversations with His Highness. He'll be marrying one of our daughters, for goodness sake."

Surprisingly, it was Victor that came to aid. "The prince is a busy man, Dr Landowski. We can't all hog him. That's unfair."

"And he will not be marrying _all_ our daughters," said Anamarie smoothly, pointedly staring at Regina.

Dread danced back into him again, wanting to drag him down into his chair, into the floor, right into hell where this conversation belonged.

Jameson huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf. "Are you insinuating that _my_ daughter—?"

"Now, now." Willemina placed a hand on Jameson's arm. "I'm sure the Bellini-Torres family meant nothing of it. It _is_ true that some of our daughters are simply not worthy for the prince's hand, after all."

Then she looked at Luna.

If this table was a ship, it was the Titanic, awaiting a collision course from which there was no return, and Roy could only think about how desperately he wanted to jump into the sea to save himself.

Guilt enveloped him for the two girls as he nodded his head again. "I'll be seeing you throughout the evening."

He couldn't speed off fast enough. If anything _really_ went down, he was sure he wouldn't miss it anyway. Big personalities made for a big explosion.

Clearing his mind, Roy headed for the next table. The fish course was to be served now, and he was seated between Maeve and Ambrosia's families. Maeve's lot were on his right, this time, probably ill-placed next to Ambrosia's quiet trio. Herself, and her parents.

Relief flooded onto her features when he slid into his seat. She blessed him with a rare smile, curling the lips of her sad, beautiful face. Ambrosia's long dress covered her arms and fell to her ankles today, almost like she was closed off, withdrawing from the world, but the smile told Roy she was still happy to see him.

"Good evening, Roy," she whispered. "Did you enjoy your starter?"

"Asparagus? Hell no," he whispered back. "It was gross."

Ambrosia placed a hand over her mouth to conceal her giggle, and his heart did that stupid somersault.

"Why, Prince Roy, it is such an honour to meet you at last."

The woman next to Ambrosia reached out her hand. Ambrosia flinched, but relaxed instantly, looking at the hand and then to Roy.

What the heck was he supposed to do?

The woman cleared her throat. "I am Macy Grace Miller, dear Ambrosia's mother."

Was he… supposed to _kiss_ her hand?

Macy Grace Miller was not unlike Ambrosia. Same strawberry blonde hair, pale skin, and a face that could've been angelic – but it was twisted into a lethal, almost cruel smile. Reluctantly, he took her hand a placed a kiss upon the back.

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Miller."

Macy gestured to the man besides her. "This is my husband, Jefferson Miller." Jefferson didn't regard Roy, didn't even look up, face glued to his smartphone. Macy cleared her throat again. "I want to thank you personally for accepting dear Ambrosia into the Elite. How fortunate we are."

"Ambrosia has been a force of kindness throughout the whole competition," Roy assured.

"Kindness?" Macy looked at Ambrosia. "I see."

A profound sense of disappointment rolled from her. Ambrosia shied away from her eyes and fiddled with the tablecloth instead. Had he said something… wrong?

He puffed his chest and framed it another way. "I really appreciate kindness, and her kindness, especially."

Ambrosia glanced at him, just a little more thankful than before.

"Good to hear," said Macy. "Yes. Ambrosia is extremely kind, as well as beautiful." Macy nodded with more assertiveness. "Very much unlike that Skye girl. Simply, a brute, she is."

Roy's turn to stiffen.

"I always hated watching her on the sports channels," Macy continued. "Never knew why, but it must have been instinct telling me she was no good. No good at all. These rebels, thinking they are entitled to everything, even the royal family. I hope they all destroy themselves, especially the Skye girl."

Was that even a good thing? "Thank you," Roy mumbled.

"My daughter, on the other hand – now she is very eligible." She slipped her hand into a bejewelled purse and handed something to him. "Have you seen her most recent cover of _Illéa Weekly?"_

A magazine. Ambrosia must've been photographed here at the palace, because he didn't recognise this cover from the ones he'd seen of her. She was in one of her Selected gowns, dripping in diamonds and fine jewellery and a gossamer bodycon dress. It was brash, elegant, bold, yet somehow Ambrosia maintained her demure demeanour.

Ambrosia could have set alight for how hot her face became.

"Breath-taking, isn't she?" said Macy. "Much more appealing than that horrid spy girl." She leant forwards. "Dare I say, than any of the others here."

"Mom!" Ambrosia squeaked, but she might as well have said nothing for as little as that stopped Macy.

"You can keep that, Your Highness," she said. "For your consideration. There's an interview with Ambrosia within as well, should you like to read it."

He was too stunned to say anything when Macy nudged Ambrosia in the arm and then turned to speak with Jefferson. Their conversation was one-sided and broken, but not because he was still staring at his phone, but because she kept her ears tuned into their whispers. Her focus still on them.

Ambrosia inhaled a deep breath. "I-I… I'm sorry…" she mumbled.

"It's fine." He brandished the magazine. "You do look gorgeous."

"Thank you," she said. "You also look… very handsome, today." She swallowed. "Erm. I-I think… I would… I-I would like to go on a date with you, Roy. Soon." Her neck bruised with blush. "O-Only if you want, though. It's your decision. But… it would be nice…"

His gaze drifted to Macy, still saying nothing to Jefferson. He suspected Ambrosia had been put up to say it, and her mother was eagerly awaiting the answer.

Not wanting to disappoint, Roy said, "Yes, that'd be lovely. I'll keep you in mind next time I have some free time."

Neither Ambrosia nor Macy had a chance to reply – a gloved hand placed the sea bass dish in front of Roy, and it followed in a wave of hands placing sea bass dishes on the other placemats. Ambrosia's family and Maeve's family made to eat, but it was quiet, stilted, completely unlike the Landowski-Bellini-Torres table.

Maybe that was for the best.

Maeve, at least, was keeping Roy entertained enough with stories from her childhood. Or attempts at Spanish.

"The only thing I know how to say is _s_ _oy la esposa del Diablo."_

"… Which means?"

She grinned. "I'm the wife of the devil."

Cosette, Maeve's mother, barked, "Stop being so crass!"

Roy managed to keep light conversation between himself, Ambrosia and Maeve going until the plates were cleared from the table, and it was his signal to switch to the next place on his rota. He wasn't sure who he felt guiltier for abandoning – Ambrosia with Macy and her uncaring step-father or Regina and her parents.

"You're parting with us so soon, Your Highness?" Macy asked, when he'd announced his leave.

"Just to the next table. I have a rota."

She pursed her lips. "I see. Do please come talk to dearest Ambrosia and I afterwards. We would love to have a more… in-depth conversation with you."

Roy wanted to assure them that he had nothing _in-depth_ to say, and that her attempts to act natural about schmoozing him were falling flatter than her personality.

"Of course," he said instead.

Ambrosia placed a hand on his just as he stood up. "I hope you do come see us later on."

Electricity sprang up his arm. "Of course I will."

He let her go and that stone dropped through his gullet.

Dismissing it, Roy went to the next table, and it bustled with noise. Mostly, because it was both Avianna's family, and Camilla's, a large ensemble of six in total. Roy wordlessly took his seat between them both, and Avianna immediately clutched onto his arm.

"Ah, good, you're here," she said, then whispered, "Please ignore Penelope."

Penelope was staring at him like he'd ripped off his shirt and offered to feed her grapes on the vine, which was disturbing to say the least.

"I can do that," he said, trying to rein in how honest that statement was.

Avianna let go when Penelope started talking again. Roy wisely took the advice to heart and focused on Camilla's side of the table instead. She was so engrossed in conversation with her parents that neither they nor she noticed him. And three siblings, too, two boys and a girl. Not quite as rowdy as Maeve's brothers and cousins, but all their attention swerved to him and their excited mutterings ceased at once.

"Hello," Roy said, grinning.

Camilla whipped to face him and went white. "Your High—"

"Mr Roy! Mr Roy!" the youngest sibling called out. Roy was surprised to see very little resemblance between him and Camilla, except that dark beige skin, the dark hair. "Did you know that there are fifty _billion_ galaxies in the universe?"

The man's eyes seared into the boy, but he quickly looked at Roy and plucked up a cold, but polite smile. "My apologies, Your Highness. My youngest son doesn't quite understand titles."

Intimidation rattled right through to Roy's bones, and he felt a sudden desire to become invisible. This man – his voice, devoid of any warmth. It was forged in steel and frozen in the harshest tundra. Jameson Landowski was abrasive, somewhat ignorant of his callousness, but this man seemed to know he was scary. Terrifying.

Roy gulped. Just wonderful. He _had_ to complain about evil mothers, only to get an evil father for a change. Fate was truly testing him today.

Camilla swallowed, baulked. Stiffly, she gestured to her family.

"Your Highness, these are my cousins, Niel, Sadie, and York, and my aunt and uncle, Amelia and Jefferson Daugherty."

 _Aunt and uncle and cousins?_ He tried to search her face for anything about its uniqueness, but she showed nothing. Her face had become a blank slate, wiped clean of all emotions.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir, ma'am, and kids," he said.

Jefferson was tense, too. He and Camilla did look alike – same unreadable face, same black hair, same Native American roots. He could've been her father, though Roy supposed that was why he was her uncle.

"I hope my niece has been treating you well," offered Jefferson, his tone rising at the end like a question.

If it was possible for Camilla to become any more rigid, she did. Maybe she was thinking about the night in the forest, outside the boundaries of the palace, without anyone's knowledge. Herself and herself alone. When he'd suspected she was the spy, and caught her in the trees sketching the palace.

Roy swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah— yes. Yes. Camilla is an exemplary Selection candidate."

The corner of her lips curled up, just for a moment. Then it vanished, stripping away for that terseness. She was staring at Jefferson. Awaiting his answer.

But it was Amelia who smiled. "That's wonderful, Cami. I'm proud of you to get this far."

After a moment, Jefferson nodded his head slightly. "Yes. This is… excellent, to hear from you, Your Highness."

Camilla could've sighed with relief for all that she relaxed into her chair. It was a very telling moment; Roy suddenly understood her standoffishness, her aloofness, better than he ever had before.

"Did you know, Mr Roy," said Niel again, crunching through his chain of thought, "that the average human body carries ten times more bacterial cells than human cells?"

"Ew!" said the older boy – York. "That's gross!"

" _Boys,"_ Jefferson chided. "Not at the dinner table, please."

They shut their mouths tight, locked it with keys. Even the girl, Sadie, averted her eyes to the table. Camilla clenched her palms on her lap.

Maybe this was his shot to ease her. Roy puffed out his chest. "I didn't know that, actually. Did _you_ know, Niel," he said, adding a bounce to his voice, "that if you laid out all your intestines in one straight line—"

"— it covers the earth twice over?"

Roy grinned. "No. You'd be dead."

Niel paused – then erupted with laughter. So did York. Even Sadie smiled.

And Camilla let out a snort, so blithe it reminded him of her in the tree. Free from worry. It dashed quickly with a hand to her mouth. Eyes widening, she flickered her gaze from Roy to Jefferson.

Awaiting his reaction.

Always awaiting his reaction.

Curious indeed.

Amelia laughed good-naturedly. Jefferson was the last to hold the mantle of amusement, but did follow with a short and curt chuckle.

The entrée thankfully stunted any formal reply to his joke – fresh cut of lamb with sugar snap peas – and the table ate mostly in silence. Occasionally Niel would offer another science fact with his mouth full, earning a countless number of resigned glares from his father.

He severed a piece of lamb as Camilla murmured, "Thank you," almost inaudibly in his ear.

"It's okay," he whispered back.

She smiled. Another rarity that he decided to cherish.

When the plates were collected, Roy made his usual spiel about the rota. Dread trickled into Camilla's expression with each word, but she nodded politely and sent him off, and it was the guiltiest he felt all night.

But it was nearly over. Just one more table, then the entertainment, then the afterparty, where he could pick and choose with whom to socialise.

Yet, it was the worst to come.

Delia, Elise and Lilly had all been placed on the last table, and Roy between Eulalia and Delia, with Lilly to the side of Eulalia, and Elise to the side of Delia. Was it possible for a worse arrangement? Eulalia wasn't so bad, but she wasn't a Selected, and he'd mostly be talking _through_ her, not to her, and Delia on his right was obviously a mistake.

Too late now. He loped his jacket over the chair back and sat down.

Lilly immediately blessed him with a bright smile, signing as she did.

" _Your Highness,"_ translated Eulalia, " _please meet my parents, Rachel and Liam."_

They were grinning just as brightly, if not brighter, than their daughter. Lilly was an exact replica of both of them – same blonde hair as her mother, same warm eyes as her father.

"Your Highness, so wonderful to meet you!" Rachel Carter piped, signing as she did. "Lilly talks so highly of you. Thank you for inviting us here."

"Yes, we're so grateful for the opportunity," said Liam, signing as he did, too. "Your home is lovely."

Roy didn't know why he expected _not_ to talk, but he had, and now the voices were a wake-up call. But he grinned at them both, pleased they didn't seem to be nasty tyrants like ninety percent of the parents and guardians he had met tonight.

Rachel nudged Lilly in the arm. "Oh, gosh, she's gone red." She winked. "Lilly always talked about you before the Selection, you know. I think she liked you a lot."

Lilly signed, fast and sharp and indignant. Eulalia just burst out with laughter and said, " _Please don't tell him that!"_

"Too late!" said Liam, laughing as well.

Soon they were signing so much they were forgetting to speak. Roy might've interjected, but watching them all so happy and at ease, it was a pleasant change from the rest of the night. Even better to see Lilly really enjoying herself, the centre of a conversation than on the fringe of it, even if he wasn't part of it at all. At one point, the three of them laughed – Eulalia tittered at Roy and said, "Rachel made an inside joke. There's no point explaining it to you."

Much like Lilly, in her pastel blue and pink, Eulalia had dressed up in a creamy white skater dress and her trademark gold hoop earrings. An extravagant change from her shoddy crochet dress.

"You have any family, Eulalia?" he ventured.

"Me? Oh, my dad… well…" She trailed off.

Roy heard the implication. "I'm sorry."

To his surprise, she slid something out from her neckline – a locket. He'd never seen her wear it, but she clicked it open like she had done it a million times before. The greyscale picture was recent enough that Eulalia didn't look much younger, but with her was a sturdy man, grinning unfalteringly at the camera.

"My mom died when I was young… and now…" She snapped the locket shut. "Sorry. I just… don't really like to talk about it."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "Let's talk about something else."

She shrugged and slid the locket beneath her dress. "You've done nothing wrong." Her smile was a quaint, feeble thing. "I'm just trying to move forwards in life best I can."

"And that's great. Admirable," Roy said. "Seems like you have another family who'll take you under their wing."

Eulalia slanted her gaze to the Carters. "Yeah. You're right."

Lilly signed again, and Eulalia dutifully said, " _Roy, isn't asparagus horrible?"_

"Absolutely," he said, not missing a beat.

" _Told you!"_

Liam gasped. "But asparagus are a diuretic and a great source of nutrients!"

"You should be a better role model for our daughter!" Rachel teased.

Lilly stuck out her tongue at the same time Roy said, "I would rather smash my face into a pie than eat another asparagus."

His wish could've been granted, as a slice of apple pie and a dollop of ice cream was chosen as the dessert course. The hot filling and cold ice cream melted in his mouth, but, taking advantage of his moment of bliss-filled silence, Delia leant to him.

"Roy, please meet my father, Aster, my brother, Colton, and my sister, Viola."

They were relegated to the end of the table, separate from their daughter, so he could only wave at them as the din of the room swallowed up their greetings. Neither her father, brother or sister made much effort to speak to him, so he didn't try himself.

Delia finished her plate. "Have you been avoiding me?"

"What?" he said, way too quickly to make it seem casual. "No, of course not. I've been busy is all."

She frowned. "It's just… since…" her voice fell quieter, "since I confessed my love for you… it seems that way."

Didn't stop both Elise and Eulalia from becoming as rigid as week-old bread, and a cold sensation sluiced through Roy's body. She wanted to talk about this _now?_

"I said I needed to work out my feelings."

"But it's not fair to keep me up in air like this."

"Delia," he levelled. "There are eight other girls here with you. It's not easy. I need patience."

"I'm trying, Roy, but the fact that you haven't talk to me since that day… that _I_ had to initiate talk with you just now, it just seems like you're trying hard _not_ to think about it." It wasn't needy, the way she spoke, but did leak an urgency. "I'm sorry. I know I'm out of line. But… I just so want to know…"

He sighed through his nose, choosing his words carefully. "You need to give me time. Please."

"But Roy, it's… it's torment, being left in the dark like this. A whole week of nothing."

It rippled a new emotion through him. Irritation.

"If you're not going to even give me that, then I doubt there's scope for a relationship between us."

Delia zipped her mouth shut. The whole table went silent, staring at the two of them – even her family were wide-eyed, spying the ordeal like a reality TV show unfolding itself in front of them.

"What… what do you mean by that?" she said, breath hitching.

Tears. Wonderful.

Adrenaline bled through his veins. "I mean that if you want to stay, you'll stop trying to pressure me for a decision."

"But if you were in love with me, you'd never say that."

"Then maybe I'm not in love with you."

Thick, fat tears dropped down her cheeks – slowly, at first, then, tortuously ripping down like a stormy rain.

"I-I painted for you."

Yes, the painting of him she'd made, on the Day of Dates. There was an obvious disconnect here, and it shouldered his words. "You're not giving me the head space and thinking time I require of something as significant as this. You can't just expect me to fall into your arms because of a _painting."_

She was crying now, sobbing. Her cutlery clattered to the ground as she flounced to stand. "I put my heart into that gift. I put my soul into every stroke. Every painting of mine has meaning. I made it for you with everything I had! A-And I… I've been working on something else for you. It's a picture of Illéa, of this country you so love."

Embarrassment and anger married with that horror, and Roy swallowed a lump of saliva that clotted his throat. "I can't help it if I don't feel anything for you yet. Can't we discuss this later?"

"Now I cannot even share how happy you make me?"

"That's not what I said." He met her gaze and kept it hard, unforgiving. "But fine, if you're going to make me choose now, here is my decision: I'm not in love with you, and frankly, this is more trouble than it's worth."

Seconds later, Lilly gasped behind him. Eulalia must've been translating everything said. Elise was probably gaping right now.

"Delia Colestrist," he began again, "please pack your bags and leave by tomorrow morning with your family. You are hereby dismissed from my Selection."

Even as nausea throttled him by the throat, he refused to back down and look away from Delia's face. It curdled with hurt, and the tears were slapping onto the carpet with no abandon.

"How _could_ you?" was all she said before she escaped, bursting through the double doors, her weeping echoing with her fleeing footsteps.

Her family took a moment before scrambling to catch up, though Roy didn't miss their glowers towards him. When they'd left, the silence consumed him, and he dared to look everyone in the table in the eye. No one collided with him, staring with extreme interest at their empty plates.

His body forced him to exhale. Well. That was something else.

As hushed conversation resumed, Roy cursed the timing. His night had been a rough one, with some of the families too conniving, too heartless for his taste, but this moment had topped them all. It punctured his pride until it was a mess within him and he was driven to flee like Delia and hide under his bedcovers until the moment had been purged from memory.

Why couldn't she have just _waited?_ Sure, he was probably, _definitely,_ avoiding her, but to air their dirty laundry here and now was not at all appropriate.

Then the lights dimmed, and a spotlight leapt onto the centre stage. Roy craned his head to see Romilda, her 1920s flapper dress falling diaphanous to her figure. Entertainment, finally, to get his mind off that awful elimination.

"Welcome all to our show!" Romilda gestured grandly to the stage. "Prepare to be dazzled and dazed by the fantastic Fennley Travelling Circus, starring our very own departed Selected, Yuriko Sato!"

The curtains parted. Lights flashed. The trapeze first came out empty, then with Yuriko in her turquoise tutu, body like a crescent moon, gliding from one swing to another. The Elite girls clapped particularly loud for her, and the applause was deafening when the other acts joined her on stage. Gymnasts. Fire-breathers. Jugglers. Exotic dancing monkeys.

At one point, Yuriko called to the crowd with unusual vigour, "Where is our prince tonight? Will he come up on stage for us?"

Lights scoured for him. Elise and her mother, Donna, were screaming, "He's here! He's here!" as Lilly and Eulalia cheered. Yuriko ushered him up to the stage, and nerves pounded at him from the side.

He hadn't noticed the spinning wheel. Or the burly man with the mask on.

"Today," Yuriko called to the audience, "you will see a spectacle never before witnessed. Does our own Prince Roy have the nerve to face… Nine Knife Nevsky?"

Nine _what?_ The man in the mask, Nine Knife Nevsky, gestured to the wheel. To the straps.

They were going to throw knives at him.

Not wanting to appear cowardly, he bottled his fear and attached himself to the wheel. Yuriko winked at him and said, "Don't worry, he never misses."

 _Never misses_ what? _The wheel, or my body?_

The world blurred in front of him. The crowd's cheers became one sound, one body of noise, colliding and coalescing into a jarring scream as Yuriko spun him. He didn't even see Nine Knife Nevsky throw the first knife – it planted by his arm.

The second knife lodged into the space between his legs, and his heart slammed against his ribcage. This was fine. Just some fun. He had no doubt in Yuriko's words, that Nevsky wouldn't miss, but the bang of the crowd pealed within him, a morning bell to break the silence of dawn.

The next few knives hit the wood, somewhere around his lower limbs, but the slurring world was turning, twisting into something else.

Suddenly, he was back underground. In that chair. Arms tied, legs chained, mouth gagged. Darkness ghosted through the air, snuffing out the last source of light from the flickering bulbs. He could see everything so vividly as if he'd never left. Never been rescued.

Newton's Wife was there with her gun. She yelled, "My last knife! Shall we go for a close shave to match his haircut?"

Gun to forehead. Cold barrel against skin. Sweat dribbling down his face. Death approaching fast. Closing eyes.

 _Thud._ Roy flinched awake. The knife had landed right beside his head. Its steel seemed to radiate a prickle across his scalp. _I could've penetrated right through your skull,_ it taunted. The spinning wheel turned upright, and the audience clapped with feverous delight.

He tried to stand, but being spun had messed with his balance. Yuriko held onto him as she announced, "Give it up for Prince Roy!"

Instead of going back down to his seat, he stumbled backstage. Romilda was there, and when she noticed Roy, shaking and pale and weakening by the moment, she rushed to him with her arms flapping.

"Are you all right?" Romilda pursed her lips. "I can't say it was the wisest thing to spin you around like that after a dinner."

It wasn't his body. It was his own mind.

Never before had he felt something like that. Something so destitute, so lifeless and void of hope. It had attacked him as a falsehood, crafting a vision of something that had already happened and was not reality anymore, yet still so clear to see.

But it was over now. He was in the palace, home. He was safe.

Relatively.

"I-I'm fine," he said. "Where's Mother?" She'd understand the most, out of everyone.

But Romilda winced. "She wasn't feeling very well. Dizzy, apparently, so she left early to rest."

Mother? _Ill?_ That wasn't like her at all. When Roy was younger, he'd once assumed she was a robot for all the work she did, for the fact that her health was near perfect, for the days she never took off. Her being sick was… strange.

He tried not to let it worry him. Ji-Yu wasn't a machine, though he may have once suspected it, and even the most stubborn people caught a cold once or twice.

"You want to sit down?" said Romilda.

"Yes. And a glass of water, please."

Romilda ushered him to her makeshift dressing room, and she returned shortly to give him the glass. The coolness was a rush, fiercely reminding him that he was here, today, in this present. Of his own flesh and blood.

"I have to go back on stage, but ask someone to call for Rudy if you feel any worse, okay?"

"Thanks, Rom."

She gave him a smile before leaving him. For a moment, he was at the fashion show, awaiting the moment he would walk into the stage to wow everyone with his suits and swagger.

There'd been a gunshot then, too, and it chilled Roy like a glacier sweeping over his bones.

The door opened without any prerogative, and Rudy stepped inside. "Roy?"

"I'm fine," he said immediately.

Rudy pressed his lips together and shut the door behind him. "I've been keeping an eye out on you all evening. First that elimination, and now this. You don't look fine."

"Spinning on that thing made me nauseous."

"I've seen you nauseous. You look more like you're spooked."

Nothing got passed him.

Roy gritted his teeth together, refusing to look his valet in the eye. "I just… when that guy was throwing knives at me… I saw it happen again."

Rudy didn't need any more explanation. He leant against the vanity table.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," Roy said. "I'm just… surprised. Why did it feel like I was back in that room, as a… as a hostage? Why did I see Newton's Wife with that gun?"

Rudy didn't reply for a moment. Maybe there was nothing to say. Instead, he clasped his hands together and regarded Roy with a softness. "You checked with Dr Strong or Dr Nagi in the infirmary, right?"

"Yeah."

Rudy pursed his lips. "I don't know what else to suggest then. Perhaps it was simply the stress of the elimination."

It didn't sound right, but Roy said nothing.

"Nothing on the spy front, I take it?" Rudy asked.

It wasn't much of a subject change, but Roy was grateful the attention was off him. "There are a lot of suspect mothers to unpack, but I'm guessing that because there's a lot of them, there's none of them. Don't suppose the guards found anything?"

"Nothing so far," said Rudy.

So this whole night had amounted to nothing.

Two swift knocks rapped on the door.

"Hello? Roy?" came Yuriko's voice.

It was nice he didn't have to worry about her being the spy. Or having the court her. "Yes. Come in, Kiko."

She padded inside and shut the door. Despite her garish outfit and gaudy make-up, she was no longer a whimsical actress, a carefree gymnast, but hard-set and grim. She swallowed.

"You told me to find you if… if something was amiss," she reiterated.

It rushed through the room. Even Rudy stood straighter.

"What did you find?" Roy asked.

"I would've told you sooner, if I'd had the chance, but… it was just before the show started. It might be nothing." She fumbled with her hands. "I saw Avianna DeLaurence coming up here. I might not have noticed anything off about it, but the guests and the Selected are placed in quarters upstairs. She was coming from west, from downstairs."

He thought of the palace layout.

"Wait. But… there's only one place that she could've come from…"

"Yes," said Yuriko. "I think she was coming from… the Shell Wing."

And it clasped him hard.

Because the Shell Wing was not just any ordinary place in the palace.

It was forbidden.

"She told me she was just exploring. But I saw the look on her face before she saw me. And it wasn't whimsy or curiosity. It was hard and… determined." She gulped. "And she told me… to keep it secret from you."

* * *

 **A/N:** Le gasp! What's going on with Avianna? Any suspect parents?! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Many thanks to **darkrosemind** for Delia Colestrist! She went out with... a bang, lol.

This author's note feels really naked so I'm gonna' ramble... I got a new PC and it's gloriously fast (Microsoft Word that doesn't lag?! Is this paradise?!), but I also downloaded two games that I've been playing non-stop, and as consequence I've only written like five hundred words of 51 (compared to last week where I banged out four chapters...) lol. But rest assured, chapters will still come. B) How has everyone's last few weeks been?

If you could all answer the extremely important poll on my profile, I'd greatly appreciate it. ;)

~ GWA

NTT: "It has pink and sparkles, and I keep it in the vault so no one can _u-soup_ it!"


	48. Bump in the Road

With Ji-Yu requiring rest for the evening, Roy had nothing to do but toss and turn for the whole night.

Avianna DeLaurence was snooping around the Shell Wing.

The rest of the night had passed with a blur when this information had parked in his head and refused to leave. The Shell Wing had been forbidden from everyone since as long as Roy could remember. Not a butler, nor maid, nor guard was allowed there. Not a member of the court. Not even he was allowed without express permission. That was just the way, and he'd never had to question it until his Selection started.

Then he realised his parents kept prisoners there. People who had committed traitorous acts, and people who were necessary for interrogation. Jordan Iscariot. Yuriko Sato. Prince Barney. Alisa Orlov. Roy didn't know if anyone else was there, locked up in those cells underground, but he knew that Avianna DeLaurence sneaking around there was a very, very bad sign.

The next morning, he woke with an ache in his back. Groggily making his way to the hall for breakfast, he was so riddled with sleeplessness that he nearly charged headfirst into Lanna.

"Oh, Roy!" she squealed. Her short-cropped white hair bounced across her leathery, brown skin. He couldn't remember her looking so aged, but her laugh was still as pearly and sweet as always. "You don't look like you had a pleasant sleep. What time did you stay up to last night?"

"Sorry. No. Yeah. I'm… tired. I didn't even hang around for very long after the dinner yesterday. Where's Gail?"

Lanna petted his arm. "At breakfast already. All the families have already left this morning. You didn't see them off?"

Great, something else to feel terrible about. "No. Should I?"

Lanna only pursed her lips in response. "I came to find you. I wanted to talk."

Roy restrained his dread and followed silently until they found a sofa in the hallway. Despite his anticipation, her whole demeanour was placid, easing, with a soft smile on rosy lips that could calm anyone's bubbling nerves.

"I don't know if your parents ever gave you this talk, but I thought it rather necessary, especially now." She took a deep breath. "You're a young man in the midst of a Selection, too. So it's even more pertinent to talk about being safe."

"… Being safe?"

She blinked. "Safe sex, of course."

And suddenly, Roy wanted to run far, far away. _No, no no!_ This woman had raised him since birth! She was practically a second mother to him, and the last person, next to his parents, he wanted to talk about _safe sex_ with.

" _L-Lanna!"_ he sputtered. "I can't talk about this with you!"

"Why not? We're both adults."

"I-I'm not planning on doing any of that until I'm married. I don't want to risk creating baggage about illegitimate heirs." Being called _Fitzroy_ was enough when the public speculated the depth of his name's meaning, and he wanted to avoid making it a genuine concern for his future offspring. "Is that all? Can I go?"

She juggled her head back and forth. "That's a good decision, Roy. Quite traditional of you. If you think that's best for you, stick by your guns, but there's no shame if you want to do anything before marriage, too. As long as you stay conscious, aware, enthusiastic and _safe."_

Heat ballooned under his skin, stifling more than a summer sun in a desert. "I-I know."

In contrast, Lanna beamed at him like he was a son that had won an award at an elementary school science fair. "You can talk to anyone in the infirmary about it. They are happy to keep it discreet. Or you can ask Rudy. I'm sure he knows a thing or two."

Roy's soul left his body. This was too much.

"Never in a million years would I talk to Rudy about sex." Even the mental image made him want to die inside. He buried his head in his hands. "I really do already know all this. Please stop talking. I'm begging you. Spare me."

Lanna patted his shoulder again. "I just want to make sure you know the basics. You grew up… so fast, Roy, with so much weight already on your shoulders. Countries, rebels, alliances and wars… I wondered, considering that plus recent circumstances, whether your parents ever gave you this chat at all."

Flashbacks to his first Birds and the Bees talk with Merrick and Ji-Yu curdled his appetite.

"No, they both gave me the Talk. Trust me. I know."

"All right. That's good to hear." Finally accepting his pleading, Lanna stood up. "I'm glad to hear you're in tune with yourself and your needs, Roy, and unafraid of how people may judge you for it. It's one of your best qualities."

His heart fuzzed with affection. Somehow, she'd managed to turn the awkward situation into something sweet, and that horrified embarrassment mingled with shyness. "Thanks. I think."

"It was a compliment," she said, offering her arm. "Come on now. Everyone but your aunt is already at breakfast, and we don't want to miss it."

Mimi had apparently gallivanted off to meet socialite friends in Angeles. No surprises there. She hardly stopped for a break, even after long, tiring events like the Families' Banquet. Roy slid his arm between Lanna's and they walked together, his ears ringing like the talk had been a flash bang, but it thankfully pulled free from his body like an errant thread the moment he stepped into the dining room. Merrick's bright grin greeted him first.

"Ah, excellent, Roy! You're here!" He gestured quickly to his seat. "Sit down, sit down."

Lanna gave him a self-satisfied grin before mooching off to her own seat by Gail. The Elite girls, it seemed, were just as confused by Merrick's joy as he was, whereas Hwan was beaming, too, almost buzzing with pent-up mirth. Young-Sook looked more the picture of Ji-Yu: sheepishly demure – red-faced, even.

Just as Roy sat down to nurse a grape smoothie, both Merrick and Ji-Yu stood up. Merrick tapped the side of his breakfast plate for attention, and the court and the Elite girls fell silent.

"Good morning everyone! Ji-Yu and I have an announcement to make!"

 _Too chipper for rebel talk,_ Roy thought. He leant back in his chair to get a better view of his parents. Ji-Yu's apparent embarrassment didn't stop Merrick loping his arm around her waist.

"We're pregnant!"

Roy spat out his grape smoothie.

" _What?!"_

"Well, _I'm_ not pregnant. Obviously," piped Merrick. "My wife is."

That explained Ji-Yu's sickness, that stupid, insistent conversation just moments before with Lanna. It wasn't general advice. It was a _warning_. A wave of embarrassment cursed him again, clinging to him like a hungry child, and his soul departed the hollow vessel of his body for the second time that hour.

Meanwhile, the room erupted into cheers and applause. Ji-Yu went bright red, hands up in surrender as Merrick relished every moment, grinning and waving and soaking in the attention. He was miles away from his mourning persona, from even thinking about Diantha around the anniversary of her death. The surprise was a good thing for him, when these days had killed off his optimism like a cold night for a weak sapling.

"Due in eight months!" he announced. "In July! We're going to keep it quiet for a while until we're ready to tell the rest of the country, so please keep it secret, but feel free to celebrate amongst yourselves and I hope you all look forward to the birth as much as I do!"

Ji-Yu sank down after that, and no wonder she seemed so tired. She was carrying another Schreave sibling. _Roy's_ _younger sibling._ His eyes slid to her stomach, but there was hardly a hill there – he would've attributed it to weight gain over a baby.

He leant to her. "So, er, why didn't you tell me you were baking another heir?"

"I found out yesterday when I went to the infirmary." She massaged her temple. "I wasn't expecting on having another child at all."

"No kidding," Roy snorted. "I got a talk from Lanna this morning. About safe sex."

Ji-Yu went bright red. "Yes. Well. Lanna has solid advice that you should take to heart."

"Ugh. Really, though?" he muttered. "You know I'm old enough to know how babies are made, right? You can't feed me that _Gail came by a stork_ business anymore."

"There isn't an age limit to—"

"Still gross."

"Now you know how your father and I feel about thirty-five girls courting you."

This felt a lot different, but Roy wisely decided not to argue. He nibbled at his scrambled eggs for respite, trying to forget the whole morning altogether as the attendant cleaned his wayward grape smoothie spit.

"It'll be good, too," Ji-Yu whispered to him. "To… boost morale. Make us appear more… relatable."

She was right. This wasn't the best time to be having a child, with the rebel attacks, the riots, the spy. But, much like the Selection, it was a distraction. Something the public could rally behind, feel like they were part of. Watching Ji-Yu go from having a tiny bump to a baby painted her and the royals as picturesque, regular. Sweet. They were the endearing royal family, as normal as every other, not at all about to tear from the seams.

But pregnancy made Ji-Yu all that more vulnerable. The rebels saw his parents as enablers, entrenched in their own corrupt system. Now Roy had to concern himself with two lives in one person. Would Walter Wolanski take pity on her for her child?

Then again, Skye saw hope in Gail. Perhaps she would see hope in the future Schreave, too.

"Yeah," he said, and it reminded him about yesterday. About the dinner. About Avianna. "Mother. I've been very… _bored_ lately."

Her gaze flickered with recognition before smoothing into a delicate smile. "You have plenty of work you could be doing, son. Perhaps Advisor Chi and I will give you more work at late noon, after I've finished my meetings."

Late noon. He'd gather Rudy and Durante by then.

Merrick jutted his head around Ji-Yu's shoulder, as incandescent as the stars in a pristine night sky. He pulled her in for a side hug.

"Aren't you excited, Roy? You're going to have another baby brother or sister!"

Aside from his worries about the practicality of it all, Roy never thought he'd have another sibling. Gail came along when he was ten (and he still firmly believed it was via stork), and he was too young to consider the repercussions and what it meant for the family dynamic, for the royal line as a whole.

He needed time to process, so only shrugged in teasing and said airily, "Just another sibling I have to worry about attempting to usurp me from my throne."

From around him, Gail asked, "What's a _u-soup?"_

"Usurp. Take my crown by force."

"But your crown is ugly," she protested. "I like mine! It has pink and sparkles, and I keep it in the vault so no one can _u-soup_ it!"

Hwan and Young-Sook were laughing. Roy rounded to them. "So did you _all_ know about Roy Junior before _I_ did?"

"Why, of course! I wanted to see the look on your face when your mother announced it!" Hwan waggled a squat camera in his hand – Roy hadn't seen it until now. "And it was completely priceless! Going in the family album for sure! I'm going to tag it, _I am the prince._ "

Laughter racketed from the table, and Roy feigned a grumpy frown. The rest of breakfast, he tried to purge that conversation and its implications from his head. The Elite girls came to congratulate him before he left to complete his tasks for the morning.

And when late noon rolled up, Roy waited to start his first Board meeting of the Elite.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Rudy had offered Ji-Yu extra pillows when she arrived in the Roy's bedroom for the Board meeting. It was the only thing that was different from last time: same area, same people, same Board – though it was far less stuffed now that they'd taken down Ferelith, Persephone, Sherlock and Delia's photos.

Eight girls. One spy.

"We should update it with everything you detailed from yesterday's dinner," said Ji-Yu. "Since I was absent."

Roy quickly rattled off the names of all the people he'd met, the cousins and siblings and step-parents, the strange family dynamics and wicked mothers. Rudy scribbled as he did, tacking the notes to each respective Selected girl. Now the Board was busier, a sign of ominous times to come.

"Any of them in particular strike you as suspicious?" said Ji-Yu once he'd finished.

"I said yesterday to Rudy that every one of the girls has their own problems. I don't think it's indicative of the spy." He gulped. "Willemina and Jameson Landowski were the rudest, though, and Anamarie Bellini-Torres took advantage of her position of power as mayor of Calgary to enter Luna into the Selection."

"I see," said Ji-Yu. "I must admit I am not particularly fond of Anamarie. She's ruthless and cold and hides under a façade of politeness, but I struggle to imagine it's because she's a rebel."

"I'm not ruling anything out," said Roy. "Not after Skye…"

"I also have word about Luna Bellini-Torres," said Gemima. She was besides Roy on the couch. "I overheard her asking the Selected girls about leaving policy."

Despite her family, Luna was the last person Roy expected to break the rules. "Why would she want to leave?"

Gemima shrugged. "The other girls promptly told her she had to get express permission from you, Your Highness. And she didn't seem so… keen, after that."

"It could simply be a personal matter," said Rudy, who was standing behind the sofa. "Family trouble, or something."

"But then she'd ask me for time off. I wouldn't say no if she had an emergency," said Roy. Anamarie, Victor, Jasper and Sofia were fine last night, too. "If Luna wanted something from me, she'd just ask without reservations."

"Not unlike Anamarie, then," Ji-Yu said. "Keep an eye on her. Rudy, discreetly ask her maids if there's anything ailing her."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Now for the biggest news. "I wanted to tell you about Avianna DeLaurence too," Roy said. "Yuriko saw her coming up from the Shell Wing just before the dinner started."

Ji-Yu's cool air warped into something different. Something urgent. Eyes wide, she whipped to face Roy. " _What?"_

So it was as serious as he thought. "The Shell Wing," he repeated. "Before her rehearsal, Yuriko saw Avianna coming up from there. She said Avianna told her not to snitch her whereabouts to me."

Ji-Yu's fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. "The insolence— we must put a stop to her at once."

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Er, don't you mean, _we must survey Lady DeLaurence and see what she's doing?"_ He said it in a high-pitched imitation of Ji-Yu's voice. "If we tell her to stop we'll tip her off about our suspicions."

"This isn't about her being the spy anymore," Ji-Yu said. "This is about her disobeying one of our strictest rules in the palace."

"The Shell Wing isn't a secret of the palace," Roy said slowly. "Everyone knows what happens there. We isolated Yuriko, Alisa and Barney, and at least one of the former two must have shared this with the other Selected girls by now. Is someone else imprisoned there?"

It took a moment for Ji-Yu to reply, "No," but she said it with enough conviction that Roy believed her. "Regardless of what she's doing there, it is the principle Lady DeLaurence is ignoring. I want more guards posted outside and inside the wing, and I want her warned directly."

"That doesn't make sense," Roy argued. "Why not find out why she's snooping around? For Camilla and Elise—"

"I don't _want_ her snooping around whatsoever!" Ji-Yu shrilled. "No. If she refuses once more, we will have her eliminated from the Selection. Lady Chi, deliver the warning yourself."

Rising in anger, Roy cut across Gemima's response. "It's not your decision to make."

"I'm forgoing the rule this one time."

"No, you're not." He shook his head. "I don't understand. Why is this scenario any different? We have an advantage here. We should take it!"

Ji-Yu glowered at him. "This isn't up for discussion or debate, Jun."

"But why—"

" _This is not up for discussion,"_ she hissed. "I have made my command and it will be done. I will not have it questioned."

Roy clamped his mouth shut, though angry words were spilling onto his tongue. Why was she so worked up about this? What was different this time than it was all the others? They were throwing this opportunity away.

Ji-Yu's leg twitched beneath her dress. He was surprised to see even Gemima fidgeting with her hands. Something was wrong here, and Roy had no idea what it was.

But it was unique to this situation. The difference was place.

The Shell Wing.

Whatever Ji-Yu was hiding, perhaps _protecting,_ it was ruining their chances at real answers. At uncovering the spy.

"Is that all?" The subject change was jarring. "If it is, you all know what has been asked of you. As usual, stay vigilant."

She gave Roy an extra hard look as she left the room with Gemima in tow. Rudy said nothing as he took the Board down from the bed posts to replace it on the bathroom wall. Even Durante shifted on his feet like he couldn't decide what to think.

Suspicion churned in Roy's gut. For Avianna, but also for his mother. He'd asked her for answers and she had refused.

 _That's how it always was,_ Merrick would tell a younger Roy every time he got curious. _That's how it will stay._ But The Shell Wing was a scratch and he was itching for answers.

Now that he was older… perhaps _Merrick_ would be more likely to talk.

Without another word, Roy made his way to Merrick's office.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

 _Kinder, gentler Merrick._ _The Merry King._ People had nicknamed him over time with words like these, and Roy repeated them like a creed in his head. He had to rely on the fact that Merrick's compassion would grant him some answers.

Perhaps he wouldn't spill the beans on the Shell Wing, but there was a higher chance over Ji-Yu caving anytime soon, so Roy was going to take it.

He rapped softly on the office door, and Merrick chirped a quiet, "Who is it?"

"Me, Dad."

"Come in."

His view of the gardens was skewed, but it let in the rough evening light as it mingled with the lamplight, as grey and dull and dark as the skies outside. Roy closed the door behind him and sat in the chair, trying not to fidget with nerves.

Merrick glanced up from his work, removed his glasses and smiled. "Good evening. Everything okay, son?"

He seemed strangely at war with himself. Perky and chipper and excited beyond belief for his third child, but still deeply entrenched in mourning for his mother. His expression carried both his joy and his sadness like two equally weighted pails on his shoulders.

"I'm… fine. How are you?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I've been better, I've been worse. Did you come to talk to me about something?"

"Can't a guy just chat with his dad?"

Merrick laughed grimly. "Funny, I recall you seeming to think I couldn't do the same to you before when Alexander and Barnabas were coming over." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want something? You seem jumpy."

No beating around the bush. Roy swallowed. "Okay, since you've demolished my attempts at tact, I wanted to ask about… the Shell Wing."

Merrick's face sucked clean of amusement for a cold terseness that could've brought a biting wind along with it. Not cruel, but bordering. "Why? You know how I feel about this subject, Roy."

"I know," he said, "but I feel like there must be a reason _why_ its forbidden."

"Why?" Merrick said again sharply, suddenly alarmed. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"That's the response I got every time I've asked you or Mother since I was a child," he said, trying to rein back his annoyance for something like a lazy interest. "But I'm an adult. I know we keep felons down there, but there has to be something more than that."

That alarm blazed on Merrick's features; nostrils flared, chest pulled in like he was constantly holding his breath. "Is there a _reason_ you're asking this now?"

"I'm just curious…?"

Merrick stayed silent for a moment before he let out a serrated sigh. "I will not feed your curiousness. We are not discussing this topic. And if that's all you want to talk about, I will politely ask you to leave my office."

It was harsh, blunt – unexpected from his dad. It put Roy on the defensive. It honed his suspicion.

"Now I'm even more curious," Roy said. "Maybe I'll go down there and have a look myself—"

"You will do _no such thing,"_ Merrick snapped. "And if you disobey it, Jun Fitzroy, so help me, you will be punished like every other person who dares disobey this rule." He picked up his pen and waved at the door. "You are dismissed."

Roy shrivelled in his chair. Merrick very, _very_ rarely yelled at him like that. Even more rarely used his full name like a death sentence. Only in times when he'd done something, or, in this case, suggested something, truly awful. But how could going down a wing of his own home be this concerning? This much trouble?

He clenched his fists. "I wish you and Mother would stop keeping secrets from me."

But Merrick roiled with anger like it'd been bottled all year for this moment.

"It is none of your business what your mother and I choose to keep from you. We have a duty to this country as well as to family, and this is a matter of state and security."

"I'm going to run this damn country one day too!"

"And until then, _I_ am king, and _I_ make the decisions. This is not up for debate, this is not up for discussion." Ji-Yu's words, echoed back to him. Merrick fixated on Roy with unhinged warning. "You promise me, Roy. You promise me not to go down there."

"I'm not making that promise," Roy snapped.

"Then I will have no choice but to have your bodyguard physically prevent you from doing so."

"You can't be serious!" Roy shrilled. "It's a stupid wing in the palace!"

"I said this was not up for discussion. You claim to be an adult. If I can't trust you to behave, I will have to treat you like a child."

Roy grumbled, and it clamoured all through his body with resistance. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Fine. Whatever."

Merrick's stance just dared Roy to argue against him. He replaced his glasses on his nose and sorted through his files. "Good. Now leave my office. I have important matters to attend."

Roy withered a little more inside, concocting with his pluming fury, but he eventually marched out of the office with whatever dignity he had left. Fists still tightly curled to his sides, he evened his breathing in the corridor outside Merrick's office before doing anything else, until his nails weren't clenched into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

All he'd learnt was nothing had changed in his near-twenty years of life. The Shell Wing was banned. The Shell Wing was forbidden. The Shell Wing was off-limits. They could easily cut off half the wing to keep everyone safe from whomever was imprisoned there, but they didn't even do that. It was nonsensical and a waste of space and resources.

Ji-Yu was cagey. Merrick was angered. And Roy was curious. He was going down there, going to find answers, no matter what Merrick said. It had ignited part of him that had waited to burn for twenty years.

He was going to the Shell Wing to make his own investigation.

After all, however childish it was, his father hadn't seen him crossing his fingers.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Dinner had passed with the rest of his family in sombre silence. Mimi was still absent, so the conversation never breached more than a casual din. It gave Roy time to think about what he was about to do. It gave him time to see whether he'd regret it.

No. He would not. No matter what he found.

At about eleven, he gathered his wits and stalked down the halls, wary to keep attention off him. Down the stairs and through the large double doors. The guards gave him wary looks, but let him pass without fanfare when Roy mumbled about checking the cells.

Stepping inside, it was exactly like it had been when Yuriko and Alisa were here: ships and sea and dust and dirt. Unloved by the palace staff, but still unique in its own right. The carpet was disturbed enough that someone had been down here recently, whether it was Avianna or someone else.

He crept down a corridor before hearing voices. Sliding into an alcove, Roy peered around the corner.

Two guards on patrol. Another security measure implemented by Ji-Yu. He slipped out when they passed him, his footsteps masked by the carpet's soft bristles, and tiptoed down another set of stairs until only walls surrounded him underground.

He came to the fork in the wing. To his left, the stairs that would take him further down into the hallway of cells, where they kept his prisoners. But it didn't grab his gaze as much as it had the last visits.

The right side, or, more accurately, straight on, was… quiet.

It was even more forbidden than the containment cells, as far as he remembered. Never been down there, and never asked if he could. Just looking into the furthest reaches of the corridor was triggering some innate sense to run back.

Told since birth. _Don't go to the Shell Wing._

Why?

Roy ignored instinct and crossed the corridor. The sconces on the walls were turned down low – low enough to see, low enough to frazzle his anxiety. Cobwebs gathered at every corner, but again, the air was disturbed. Moved. People had been down here.

How far had Avianna gone?

It made a sharp right at the end, and Roy took a step out, only to realise he'd come face-to-face with another set of doors.

And two guards. But not like the others than roamed the corridors.

These were armed with rifles strapped across their backs and handguns shoved into their holsters. It wasn't hot, but breastplates and armour covering palace uniforms had to be sweltering. Their gloved palms held sharp-tipped spears, gleaming with recent polish, and even their faces were covered with steel helmets that shadowed their eyes.

Like executioners. No identity. Only a task. Dangerous enough to elevate Roy's heartbeat.

They straightened when their eyes fell upon Roy. "You shouldn't be down here, Your Highness," said the one on the left.

Roy didn't like anything he'd said. His tone, his topic. Why did he act like he had authority over a prince?

"I can go wherever I please." He squared up to them. "What are you guarding?"

"I'm afraid that's classified, sir," said the one of the right.

"I'm the prince. Let me pass."

"I'm afraid we are under orders from Their Majesties, and we must receive explicit permission to do so."

So Merrick and Ji-Yu did know something. Were hiding something. Who or what was so dangerous that they needed armed guards to protect the door?

It couldn't be the end. Roy mustered an idle frown like this was nothing but an inconvenience and not at all a stub to his investigation.

"Well, my parents are going to be very displeased that you turned me away. I'll have to summon them here myself, and I doubt they'll be happy you're wasting both my time and theirs."

But the guard on the left said, "Our orders are our orders, sir, and we cannot disobey them without direct permission from Their Majesties. If what you say is true, please ask them to inform us themselves."

It took him a moment to realise that, for the first time, throwing around his title or his parents' influence hadn't worked. These guards weren't going to budge for him, and he certainly couldn't even try to make them, not with all those weapons.

"What are you guarding?" he pressed.

The right one said, "It's classified."

"I have a right to know!"

"We do not have the authority to let you pass, sir," he said. "And we will have to ask you to leave if you cause trouble." His hand flickered to the walkie-talkie on his belt.

 _Threats._ In his own home. Forcing down the shame and embarrassment, Roy clenched his fists together and turned on his heel, channelling his irritation into his stride.

His parents were keeping secrets. Roy had thought he could be transparent with his mother, at least, with the Selection and the spy fiasco keeping him awake at night. But there was something she wasn't sharing, and it skittered across his skin like an unpleasant sensation he couldn't stop. Now that the guards had rebuked him not even he could feign ignorance now.

Maybe that was why Avianna was down here. Trying to find out the same thing. She was mischievous, curious like the cat that was unsatisfied, and whether or not she was the spy, there was something beyond that door that deserved protection.

Perhaps those guards weren't there to protect whatever was inside. Perhaps they were there to protect everyone outside.

One thing was for certain. It was panicking Ji-Yu that Avianna found out whatever was behind that door.

So Roy was going to find out himself.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hmmm... why is the Shell Wing so mysterious? What's Avianna doing? And what's behind that dang door? Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Random update day! I'm six chapters ahead writing-wise (though I have yet to do edits) and I figure, if I keep posting every three weeks I won't have finished this story by the end of the year, lmao. And no one wants that. Plus you get speedier updates. ;)

Sorry for the lack of Elite action in this chapter. Sometimes you gotta' focus on the Schreave family drama. Though don't despair, the Elite girls will have their fair share of... tribulations, coming up... *evil laugh*

Also, what do you think of pregnant Ji-Yu?!

~ GWA

NTT: "We're going to break into the Shell Wing."


	49. The Shell Wing

"We're going to break into the Shell Wing."

Durante's eyes widened so hard they could've burst from the socket, and Rudy's chest pushed out like he was about to explain in essay form with reference why that was a terrible idea.

" _What?"_ Durante said before Rudy could say anything. "Your Highness, the Shell Wing is—"

"Forbidden, I know. You're not the first person to tell me these last few days."

Roy stared outside his bedroom window as he quickly shared the details of his conversation with Merrick and his fruitless exploration the evening before. The greenness acres of the garden were succumbing to winter's grasp, leaving a less than picturesque view of the shrivelled brown leaves scattered on the pathways and the frost-dusted edges of the arches.

Everything about today was making him feel cold.

"My parents don't want to tell me what's in that wing. They don't trust me."

"You actually went _down_ there?" Rudy muttered. "God, Roy, maybe it's for a reason. Maybe it's to keep you safe."

"Instead of being vague they could just tell me _why_ I need to avoid it, and if it's horrific enough, I will," Roy said. "But I'm the goddamn prince, and whenever I take over the throne, whatever's there becomes my responsibility. And right now, the thing behind those doors is causing Mother and Father enough grief as it is."

Durante's lips meshed together, and his eyebrows furrowed. "In the barracks, we're only told not to tread there under any circumstances, and if we do, we… lose our jobs. The guards stationed there are under strict orders to keep quiet. Besides Their Majesties, they and Delacroix are possibly the only ones who know. Even in the event of an evacuation, like a fire, the Shell Wing guards… they're ordered to stay there."

That couldn't be right. "What about a rebel attack?"

"They must stay."

What was so important that they couldn't flee from their posts in the event of _rebels?_

He tempered his confusion. "This is why I need to see what's there." He fixed his eyes on Durante. "If you will get fired for going down there, you don't have to accompany us."

" _Us?"_ Rudy echoed.

"I'm not going there alone. It's creepy."

"Oh, yes, drag me down to Creepyville too. I'm just _dying_ to see it." Rudy crossed his arms. "I don't want to be part of this espionage. _My_ job could be on the line as well."

"You're specifically in my employ and you get your permission to go there from me, therefore absolving you from the subjugation of my parents," Roy said, but it didn't so much as win them over as it did make Rudy roll his eyes in exasperation.

"How do you even propose we go in?" he said. "I doubt you waltzing along a second time sing-songing the same argument will convince them to give you passage."

"That's why I called you both here. We need a plan. If we think of a distraction I can slip through—"

"They're not idiots, sir," said Durante. "They're highly trained and not so easily drawn away from their posts."

"Something has to distract them," said Roy. "It's just the _what_ we need to figure out together."

Durante rolled his lips for a moment. "If someone was hurt, perhaps. They could call for help."

"So now we're going to maim someone for the sake of curiosity," Rudy said, deadpan. "How wonderful."

The words eclipsed Roy's thoughts. "I'm not asking you to risk your careers, here. Only I need to get in. You're both just the idea generators."

"You're clearly not welcome there," Rudy shot back. "Why should we help you commit treason?"

"It's not treason."

"Disobeying the laws of your country or sovereign is literally the definition of treason. You can do it even if you are the prince." His head tipped up. "I want no part in this."

He hated how reasonable Rudy sounded. Sighing through his nose, he waved a hand. "Fine. You can go valet elsewhere. Durante, will you help me?"

"Go?" Rudy cut across. "No. I'm going to stay and make sure you don't decide anything stupid. _That_ is my job as valet."

"Pretty sure it's washing sheets."

"I, er—" Durante sliced through their bickering. "I won't help you, Your Highness. It's against my ethical code as a palace guard."

" _Thank you,"_ said Rudy.

"But… I have an idea. If you'll hear me out."

Rudy whipped to face him. "You're not serious?"

Roy grinned so smugly his cheeks hurt. "I accept. What did you have in mind?"

Durante studied them both, eyes darting between them like a tennis match. He fumbled with his hands and looked at the ground.

"Our duty as guards is first and foremost to protect the royal family. We can't injure anyone for this, so we have to give them the next best thing; a dissatisfied royal. Perhaps… a crying princess?"

Oh. Now _that_ was evil.

Would they be so quick to turn away… Gail?

Rudy opened and shut his mouth several times. "That is truly devilish."

"It's perfect," said Roy, a plan forming in his mind. "And we're going to need some help to do it."

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Gail was more than happy to help Roy with surveillance when he'd agreed to play his evil villain persona the day after.

"—and you will have an evil black cape!" she said, holding his hand as they walked to the Shell Wing together. "With evil spikes!"

He laughed, despite how nervous this whole situation was making him. "I'll have to let my tailor know before tomorrow then." He passed a look with Rudy, who trailed them with a frown.

"I have it noted," he said, though clearly he was still unconvinced about using Gail's childish wiles to draw the guards away. About borrowing her from Lanna with a mumbled excuse about playing together. About going against the wishes of his parents at all.

But Roy was so close now. This had to work.

"Roooooy!"

Cold sluiced up his body, but as he turned around, he was relieved to see it was Mimi, _just_ Mimi, jogging over to the three of them in a pair of ginormous over-the-knee boots, sequins glittering like a sea cove full of malachite. Her hair bounced over her shoulders.

But she was upset. It was obvious, but how her manicured eyebrows sloped across her eyes. How her frown carved extra wrinkles onto her cheeks. Did she know what he was about to do?

"Auntie Mimi!" Gail said, reaching up for her.

Mimi bundled her in her arms, but still focused on Roy. "You never told me you eliminated Delia during the dinner!"

He'd forgotten about Delia's elimination long enough that he'd started to recover from the awkwardness, but now it welled right back up, oozing through his punctured courage.

"Sorry, I didn't realise I was supposed to tell you."

She flapped a free hand. "I was probably too drunk to notice on the night. I just found out yesterday at my friends' club! _Everyone_ was talking about it, asking me questions about it, but I didn't have a pip to tell them! I'm just— I was so shocked, really. I thought you liked Delia!"

Part of him wanted to ask her to leave them be. Detective Roy was too busy to deal with her questions. The other part of him was still reeling from the thought of Delia's elimination.

"I did, but she was pressuring me for an answer on the _love_ front, and I didn't have one to give her, so…" He shrugged.

"That's bad!" said Gail. "Boo!"

Mimi pursed her ruby red lips. " _Boo_ is right. Oh, I'm so sorry it didn't work out for you. I'm so sad. She was my favourite girl of all of them. Who am I supposed to back now?"

His heart clenched like it was guarding itself. "I don't know, but… this is _my_ Selection, Aunt Mimi. It's _my_ say who stays and who goes."

"Oh, absolutely." She nodded her head feverishly. "I'm just… I'm disappointed it didn't work out between you two. I was so certain…"

"Certain of what?"

"That if I set you two up on a date you'd get to know each other more. That maybe you just needed a little outside encouragement, is all."

Even Rudy cringed.

"That's the thing, Aunt Mimi. I really appreciate you trying to help, but I don't want outside parties meddling with my Selection, so … can you… _not?"_

At once, he knew he'd phrased it badly. The corners of her lips pulled further down like they were yanked with fish hooks. She curled Gail tighter in her arms.

"I-I was trying to help you move along with it, Roy," she mumbled. "I didn't want you to be still going through with the Selection halfway through to next year."

"I know, but that date felt forced and awkward because we hadn't planned it between ourselves," he said, and he attempted a smile. "I need… to prepare, you know? Mentally?"

Mimi pondered this for a few moments, crestfallen and wistful. "I understand," she said, and it was a mournful sound.

"Just… some space. That's all I'm asking for."

"All right," she agreed. "No… spontaneous dates." Then, in the flash of the moment, all her sadness was gone, replaced with dramatic, flamboyant Aunt Mimi. "I'm sure I'll like one of the other girls who are still here. One of them has to capture the heart of my soon-to-be love-struck _joka._ Isn't that right, peanut?"

"Yay! Love-struck!" Gail chirruped.

"That's my niece!" she exclaimed. "You want to come play with me? We can dress up with all your lovely tiaras."

"It's a crown!" Gail corrected huffily. "And it's pink and spark—"

Roy cut across Gail's excitement. "Gail and I were going to, er, do something else, actually."

"Oh! What were you doing? Can I come?"

"No! No," Roy said, trying not to fan himself to stop his face flushing. "Sorry, it's— er, royal business."

She blinked. "Ah. Okay." She put Gail down and swung her hips. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your royal business."

She winked at Roy before sashaying off. Thank goodness, she didn't suspect anything.

"I see nothing has changed," Rudy mused.

"You should date all of them at once, Jun!" Gail piped.

He offered his hand to Gail and she took it. "We'll see." He led them towards the Shell Wing once more, his nerves building like bricks of a house.

"Why do I have to do this again?" asked Gail.

"It's a secret mission from _Appa_ and _Omma_ that only you can accomplish. And Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms can do anything she sets her mind to, right?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Her eyes became as round as saucers. "Yay me!"

They reached the doors bisecting the Shell Wing from the rest of the palace, and Rudy paused at the threshold.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I am," Roy said, and he grinned at his valet. "Relax. I'll be fine."

"I'll be waiting here upon your return, then." He shifted on his feet. "Be careful, please."

"I'm the prince. I'm always careful."

"I entirely doubt that, Your Highness."

He stepped away and clasped his hands together, lips forming a grim line.

Gail didn't even misstep as they entered the Shell Wing together, through the first line of guards (Roy spun some tale about her wanting to find the dust bunnies). She didn't speak about how she, too, had been told it was a forbidden place that she dare not tread. Didn't hesitate even as the dust whirled up with each footstep, as the eerie silence blanketed them or as they passed the cracked ship wheels and chipped paintings. At the fork, she wordlessly followed him straight down until they came to the last corner.

Right before that guarded door.

Roy let her hand go. She knew what to do now. With one last nod between them, sealing their sibling bond, he crouched in an alcove to hide.

Gail drew in a long breath.

Then wailed so loudly she could've shattered windows were there any in this godforsaken hallway. And it summoned those guards away from the door faster than Roy could've anticipated.

Still armed. Still with their spears.

"Princess?" one asked incredulously.

"I got lost!" she said between her bawls. "I can't find Jun! I can't find my way back!"

By god, she was good at faking. He almost believed her himself, tugging at his heartstrings like a tragic opera song.

One guard looked at another. "Call it in."

"I-I'm scared," she said. "Please take me back."

"We'll wait here until someone fetches you, how is that?" the same one cooed as his comrade muttered into the walkie-talkie.

"No! I want to leave now! I want both you guards to protect me from the scary monsters!" Then more sobs tumbled from her lips, and it was enough that the cooing guard hoisted her up in his arms and marched down the hallway with his friend in tow.

Excellent.

Roy collected his breathing. This was it. He would have an answer to one of the biggest mysteries in his entire life. He poked his head out down the corridor to check it was clear.

But instead he saw a silhouette rush around the corner.

Roy's heart lurched into his throat. _Who? And how?_ He stumbled from his spot and dashed to catch up with the person – a glimmer of a dress and a whiplash of black hair, had closed the door behind them. Unguarded, the white doors proudly boasted scratched paint and dated design.

He threw open the doors.

Only to see Avianna, hands closed around the door knob at the other end.

"Wait!"

Avianna whipped around, surprise colouring her features. " _Roy?"_

He marched over as she took her hand off the handle, and suspicion rode over his mini victory of the moment.

"How did you get in here?"

"How did _you?"_ she shot back. "Wait. Was that whole Gail thing your idea?"

"The Shell Wing is forbidden," he said, ignoring her. "How did _you_ get in here?" How did she get passed the first set of guards?

She seemed hesitant. "There's a secret passage that comes up to hallway outside. Elise showed me one day."

How many people had Elise shown? Thinking of the layout of the tunnels, he struggled to picture one that led up here. Then again, he'd always avoided it to prevent his parents' wrath.

"Why did you use Gail to distract the guards?"

He swallowed. "That's none of your—"

"You're trying to find out what's here, too."

His alarm bells should've been blaring in his head. Avianna was a hot suspect for the spy. Her being down here, even after Gemima's warnings, meant that she had more than just curiosity motivating her to find answers. Was she really willing to risk expulsion and banishment just for a palace secret?

"It doesn't matter why I'm here. _You_ are. And that's a criminal offence, as Lady Chi has already told you."

Avianna crossed her arms. "Yeah. I got the memo. But you know what I also got? That I'm trying to be silenced."

"This is no different from being barred from entering my dad's office—"

"Yes it is," she argued. "Everyone knows what's in your dad's office. Papers and documents and His Majesty himself. But no one knows what's down here. Not even you."

Her conviction was weighted. It sang a harmony with Roy's own need to uncover the mystery of the Shell Wing.

"I came down here," Avianna continued, "because I saw King Merrick coming down here like every day for the past week."

His heart lurched into his throat. _What?_

"And not just to the prison cells. I mean, _here."_ She gestured to the door. "He'd always bring food or a snack or a photograph or something, and then come back out without it."

It struck him hard knowing that Merrick had been frequenting here without knowing. No mention of such visits at all yesterday. He'd been desperate to know why Roy had taken such a shine to the hallways now. If he was coming down here himself, he might've thought Roy had spotted him. Caught him red-handed.

Like he was doing something illegal.

What the hell was going on?

"Listen," he said, allowing his rationality to take over. "If you leave now, I won't be forced to tell my parents about this. Whatever's there isn't for you to see. It concerns a matter of state—"

Too much. Avianna's eyes glittered with this new information.

"A matter of state security? Whoa. You think they're recreating Frankenstein or something? Some messed-up experiment?"

"I mean it. You can't come with me. And I want you to leave the Shell Wing before I have to report you."

"And incriminate yourself?"

If she was caught, he was caught. He was the prince, and he heralded the power here, but Ji-Yu knew Avianna had been snooping around, and his mother was more than likely to believe her if she spilt the beans of their exploration. _Damn._

He didn't even have the heart to eliminate her. There was a strong chemistry between them, and he was drawn to it like she was to these palace doors.

"Something seems wrong about this, Roy," she said, softening her voice. "With respect, your parents tried to silence me, and they've been silencing you for your whole life. Don't you think that means something?"

It meant there was some ulterior motive he did not understand.

But security was security. Avianna was a spy suspect. She couldn't be allowed to go in.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you go in."

Avianna froze. Disappointed, sad.

Then she grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

"No!" Roy shrieked, but too late.

No experiments. No top-secret war bunker.

Just a well-furnished room that yawned open to them.

A double-king bed with a canopy and four posters, carved from mahogany wood. Two sofas were spread around a flat-screen television, quiet vents, and bookshelves were crammed full with tomes. A door led to what Roy could only assume was the washroom.

Most unusually, they were partitioned from the whole abode with glass. Gleaming and polished, it was like looking into another reality, or a mirror realm. Directly in front of him, the glass was punctured with holes with a door locked tight to the side.

And behind was a woman. Probably about Hwan and Young-Sook's age, with wrinkles creasing every inch of her face. Brittle and weak white hair coiled to her head like a crown she refused to take off.

It wasn't too late. Roy could grab Avianna and leave. But the woman had crooked her head towards them, blue eyes so bright they were almost toxic. She grinned.

"This is certainly unexpected."

The old woman rose from her chair – creaking and slow, but still with a trained, noble elegance. Head tipped up, back straight. She took her bejewelled cane from her side and strode over until she was nearly nose-to-nose with the glass. Her voice projected through the holes.

"And you brought a… friend." She trailed Avianna with disdain. "No, one of your ladies from your Selection. Avianna DeLaurence, is it not?"

Avianna went rigid as Roy's insides froze. "How the heck do you know who we are?"

The old woman gestured to the TV. "I see your faces every time they appear on television, Roy. I watch every interview, every piece about your… Selection. About your life. My memory is perfectly intact, despite what you may have heard."

Behind these doors, protected by guards, shrouded in secrecy, was… an old woman? His curiosity was sky-rocketing, higher than his desire to flee.

"Who… who are you?"

She tilted her head and said nothing. Then her eyes flashed, and that grin slithered onto her face again. "You don't know?" Laughter reverberated against the walls of the prison. "My word. Merrick hasn't told you, has he? Of course he hasn't. Weak as he is."

"You have no right to speak about my father that way!"

"I have every right to speak about my son that way."

Roy halted. Every inch of him seized up at the words.

 _My son._

It couldn't be.

"I'm sickened you don't even recognise your own family." She smiled – revoltingly saccharine, an advantage over him in every way. "I am Diantha Schreave, but you may also know me as the dearest grandmother of yours… that _died_ decades ago."

* * *

 **A/N:** What does this mean for Roy and Avianna? What are the consequences...? Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Apologies for posting late. I'm abroad because of a family emergency and haven't had the chance to post until now. Keeping it short, but thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting and following, as always. I've had an emotional week, but this is a comfort in the chaos, and reading your reviews always makes me feel better.

~ GWA

NTT: "You thought those bangs looked so good on you."


	50. A Conspiracy of Silence

Roy took a step back and nearly collided with Avianna.

Trapped behind this glass prison was his grandmother. Diantha Schreave.

"B-But that's impossible," he said, once his mind had grasped her words. "Diantha is dead. She died years ago. Before I was even born."

"I know how my own tragic death goes, Roy." Those bright blue eyes swept over them with calculation, and she added in a bitter tone, "Of course, you would not suspect otherwise. I imagine your filthy mother conjured many lies about me."

 _Weak son. Filthy mother._ Roy snapped, "You don't get to talk about my parents that way. I don't care whoever you claim to be."

"I am who I say I am. Whether you choose to believe it is your own prerogative."

But she was dead. For over twenty years. Succumbing to some sort of disease, swiftly leaving the world and country in Merrick's young hands. He was just older than Roy was now when it happened.

This woman could've been any old person. But the fact that she was sequestered in the palace, in a forbidden wing, lavishly spoilt with high-quality furniture and food was a sign that she spoke the truth. The fact that he saw the resemblance between her and Merrick, Philippa and his aunt Decadence drove it further through his chest like an arrow through an unaware deer.

"Then why the hell should I believe you?" he said anyway. "You— you went mad!"

" _Lies!"_ she bellowed, fiercely enough that Roy stepped back. "Filthy lies from a filthy witch and my weak, traitorous son. Fed to the entire country so that they could earn the people's pity. I am very much alive. I am very much right of mind. I remember everything, and I will never, ever forget what they did."

 _What did they do to Diantha?_

This was something huge. The queen mother was alive, after all these years, a secret so guarded not even the entire royal family knew. It swelled the anger in Roy's veins that he was as ignorant as the rest of the country, that such a secret was kept from him.

"Filthy, filthy lies. You will see it soon, boy. The people you trust may not be as virtuous as you think."

The doors at the end of the hallway burst open. The guards. They marched inside, red-faced and furious, hands clenched on their weapon.

The first guard said, "Your Highness, my lady, you were told not to come down here. It is considered a crime."

Despite the anger awash over the guards' faces, how intimidatingly they breathed over him, Roy demanded with lethal quiet, "Take me to Their Majesties. Now."

Diantha just laughed and made her way back to her sofa. "Come back soon to visit me, my grandson. I'm sure you want better answers than your parents could offer you. Next time though, please don't bring that ragged Six with you." She sat down again, distracted by the static of the television. Voice cool, but not like all her anger was spent – it was building again, and she was biding her time to use it.

Avianna, eyes flashing, opened her mouth to argue, but neither were offered the chance. The guards shoved them out of the room, one guard muttering into the walkie-talkie. Likely informing Delacroix about the breach, telling Merrick and Ji-Yu that the secret was out.

They reached the fork in the Shell Wing. One way led out of the wing.

"Avianna DeLaurence, please follow me this way."

The other led to the cells.

Her features blanched. "No. Please. I-I swear I won't tell anyone!" She looked helplessly to Roy. "Am I going to get banished? Am I going to get stripped of my caste? Or caned?"

She disobeyed him when it mattered most, and now her involvement only complicated matters. Regret slithered through his anger – he should've grabbed her, dragged her screaming if he'd had to, just to prevent the mess now.

"Do as he says." It was an order, not a comfort.

Tears spilt into her eyes as they parted ways. Her to the Shell Wing prison, him to his own version of jail. The other guard took him as far as the wing entrance before passing him off to another. Rudy was dutifully waiting with Gail and Lanna, but Roy waved his hand in a shooing gesture. He had to go, or they'd peg him as an abettor.

The conference room doors were wide open, with Merrick, Ji-Yu, Gemima and Delacroix inside. Ji-Yu was pacing, cheeks puffed, her ethereal grace twisted into that of an unyielding angel of death, come to deliver him from his sins. Merrick was also red-faced, but it was tinged with that same regretful aura, radiating from him like scorching heat in a desert. He touched the Gordian knot brooch on his lapel and addressed the guard with a low, small voice.

"Thank you. You may go." His gaze swerved to Roy, but Roy did not back down. "Come in. Shut the door."

Roy closed the door. It echoed in the silence.

And Ji-Yu shrilled, "How _dare_ you ignore my orders, Jun Fitzroy! How dare you go down there when I told you not to! Even involving your little sister!" She was breathing so shallowly her words were a staccato beat. "Are you ashamed? Do you know what you've done?"

"What _I've_ done?!" he yelled back. "That's some nerve! You've had the goddamn _queen mother_ locked in there for over twenty years!"

"And did you ever think with even a morsel of common sense _why_ that was? _Why_ we kept her there for so long, and didn't tell a soul?" She hissed. "We have a duty to keep Illéa safe, and now you and Avianna have jeopardised—"

"Explain to me how the hell _I_ jeopardised this country when _you and Father_ faked her damn death! Told the whole world she was dead when she's perfectly alive and healthy! You kept this from me for so long, so I'm not here for bullshit. Explain it to me. Tell me what you did to her."

After a moment of hesitation, Ji-Yu said, "Don't use that language."

"Don't police me on my tone. I have a right to know, and I'll use whatever language I damn well want to put that across."

Merrick held up his hand. Calm. Acutely quiet. "You do not have any right to know. You never did. I made the Shell Wing forbidden for this specific reason, Roy. I made you promise, and you disobeyed me."

There was no anger in his voice. It only oozed disappointment, so much that Roy could've slipped and fell.

"I disobeyed you because something was wrong and I decided to find out what the hell was going on myself." It still fell flat. "Are you going to give me a reason or not?"

Merrick gestured stiffly to the many chairs. "Sit."

Restless energy surged through his limbs, but he did anyway. Until now, Roy assumed Merrick's melancholy was a mourning for the past, a mourning for Diantha's death, but how, when she was still alive?

Yet it was genuine all the same.

"When I was your age, your grandmother, my mother, Diantha, was acting as the sole ruler of Illéa. Your grandfather, my father, Galloway, was too wasted away on drink to rule. He had liver disease, addictions. Bedridden before fifty years old. Everyone was expecting him to pass away soon. Too soon. Your grandmother was to remain sole ruler until I was deemed capable enough to take over myself.

"She suggested I hold my Selection to ward off the negative press about our family, about father. I agreed – perhaps it was time I uphold such an ancient tradition to show the people I was serious about my impending reign. That's when I met your mother."

He glanced at Ji-Yu with a mixture of admiration and gratefulness, a connection deeper than love. She just smiled back, but it was a hauntingly sad echo of any real joy.

Roy swallowed. "I know about your Selection, Father."

"You know a… modified version of it. Like the rest of the world does."

"So even those events are fabricated?"

He wavered on this for a few moments. "Parts of it. It is true that, despite my friend Beatrice Jacobs being favourite to win, I quickly became enamoured with your mother. I knew she was the one for me very soon into my Selection. But I dutifully waited to see if perhaps it was just first impressions. I eliminated a few girls, reached my Elite. It is true I chose your mother in the end. How we reached that decision, however, is different from what you know.

"When I told your grandmother that I wanted the Selection to end, that I wanted to choose your mother, she became… angry. Hostile. She hated her, despised her. I didn't see it, of course, but your mother – she noticed the moment she stepped into the palace. It took me far longer to see."

"Why didn't Diantha like Mother?"

Ji-Yu stiffened. "Because…" she sighed, world-weary and tired. "Because she's a bigot. That's why."

Roy's back went taut immediately. "A bigot?"

"Amongst other things. She hated foreigners. Hated gay people. Hated the disabled. Most prominently she loathed the lower classes. The Eights, Sevens, Sixes… and Fives. Me, and Mimi and _Oni_ and _Oji._ She deemed us as worthy as the worms beneath her riding boots." Her laugh was hollow. "She hated me because I was different. Because I was a low-caste foreigner."

"And I never saw it, never even considered it." Shame bled from Merrick's voice. "I was complicit in her words and her actions because I was completely ignorant of them."

Ji-Yu placed a hand on his shoulder. "The difference is, Roy, your father learnt from his mistakes. It was clear that Diantha would not. Refused to."

"So you imprisoned her?"

"It wasn't as simple as that," Merrick said. "Your grandmother, once she learnt that I wanted to marry your mother, she—" He paused to collect himself. "She ordered her executed."

It tumbled through Roy like an avalanche with no ending.

"She dragged me from my quarters," said Ji-Yu, "throwing slurs in my face and demeaning me and my caste, and then had me imprisoned in the Shell Wing until next day, when I was to be hanged privately for some heinous, made-up crime. Probably an attempted murder."

Merrick tapped the Gordian knot brooch. "Luckily one of my attendants, Clancy, was very aware of Diantha's misgivings, and he helped me see your mother the night before the execution. He was sympathetic to me.

"Clancy helped me realise that actions like this had been going on a long time, and I quickly realised the only way to overturn the decision and prevent further things like this from happening was to remove my grandmother's power. The only way to do that… was to take the throne. That next day, with Clancy's help, I planted a concoction in her wine that induced hallucinations."

"You seized her throne," Roy said, "by _poisoning_ her?"

"She was quickly deemed unfit for rule," Merrick said, and it looked like he was doing everything he could not to cry. "I took over, temporarily. Cancelled the hanging. It was clear she wasn't going to change, not even for selfish reasons like me, so we faked her death and had her imprisoned in the Shell Wing. Your mother won the Selection, and I was crowned king."

"And we told the world exactly what you know," said Ji-Yu. "That shortly after Galloway's death, Diantha's illness caused her to pass away in her sleep."

Roy leant back in his chair and tried to stop his heart from bursting from his chest. This was… so much to take in. Everything. The lies. The reality of the situation. That Diantha would hate his mother, would hate _him,_ for something as simple as the fabric of his own being. That she was a tyrant to the lower castes.

The history lesson with Sashi came back to him. Janice Schreave, Roy's great-grandmother and Diantha's step-mother, had reinstated the absolute monarchy and the castes. Fitting that they were similar even without the blood relation. Perhaps Janice chose Diantha herself to marry her son, to carry on her vile legacy. Sashi had talked about the racial genetics of the Schreave line, too. This had to be why.

"That's… that's horrible."

Merrick glanced at him with a look that yearned to make him forget. "Do you see why we hid her from you? I wanted you to grow up happy with who you are, who your family are, but your grandmother… what sort of role model would she have been? I felt it better to let you and Gail thrive as individuals knowing that she died before you were born."

"So then why did you keep her alive?" Roy said, only realising afterwards how cruel that sounded. "I'm not suggesting you should've killed her, but… if she's as evil as you say, why is she still here?"

Ji-Yu glanced at Merrick. He sighed.

"I cannot kill her. I… don't have the heart."

 _Weak, traitorous son._ Diantha's words rolled in his head before he could shoo them away.

"I await the day she dies of natural causes so that I will finally expunge her legacy, but I cannot in good conscience drop the axe myself," he said. "This time of year… this is when it all happened, Roy. Every December, I hope she will finally understand why your mother and I did what we did. Every December, I make an effort to show her what she's missing. I tell her all about her grandchildren, you and Gail, and how much I love you both. I show her your recent reports or some of the pictures Gail draws. Photographs and videos. This year I brought news of your Selection.

"But every December, I am disappointed. Every December, I end the year less fulfilled than at the beginning of the month. I am reminded that nothing has changed, and this year is no different from the last."

Perhaps the Shell Wing inspired such sadness. It was a place of secrecy, dogma, prisoners and war. No matter how much the quirky theme could dress it up, the Shell Wing was a reminder to Merrick and Ji-Yu how much they loved one another, and how much they lost.

Roy clasped his hands until his knuckles were white. What did this say about his family, as people and as rulers?

"I'm not proud of it," said Merrick, answering the question hanging in the air. Tears welled in his eyes. "I'm not proud of what I did, but it is what it is, and I am happy. Your mother is happy and alive. And most importantly, I have you and Gail and Little Schreave Junior and I count my lucky stars how blessed I am."

What would life be like had he known? If Diantha was still alive in the eyes of the people? Perhaps he might not even exist.

Merrick wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Rose his shoulders. "Now I have to worry about what Lady DeLaurence will do with this knowledge."

Roy swallowed another lump of shame. "I tried to stop her, but she opened the door before I could—" He halted. Excuses did nothing now. "What will happen to her?"

Delacroix spoke up. He'd been so quiet Roy had forgotten he was there. "For now, she is confined in a cell until she signs the confidentiality papers. Then we will need to discuss how to proceed."

"She knows our biggest secret. That is a lot of weight on our shoulders, and I'm not sure how much we're willing to risk allowing her to roam free with this knowledge. Either way," Merrick gave Roy a hard stare, "she is not fit for queen."

He knew the meaning.

Roy twiddled his thumbs, suddenly at a loss for words, though the questions wouldn't stop barraging his mind for attention. He could deal with Avianna later; for now, this Diantha fiasco suffocated him from the inside-out.

"Were you ever planning to tell me? About Diantha?"

Merrick and Ji-Yu exchanged glances. "I… had intended to, one day," said Merrick. "Definitely if she outlived your coronation, yes."

"So if she happened to die before I became king, you wouldn't."

Their silence was all Roy needed.

"You committed treason against your own mother. Do you know how messed up that is? Why…" He said, finally settling on the most important question of all, and it shackled him with a new wave of pain. "Why didn't you tell me this? Don't you trust me?"

Merrick's gaze hardened and he said nothing, and it was another blow to Roy's ego.

Ji-Yu stepped in. "This information curses us every day of our lives, and your father and I didn't want you having to go through the same thing. We wake up every morning and wonder if today will be the day information leaked."

So, it was reputation they were protecting. "You care more about what the people think than me?"

"That's not—" Ji-Yu cut herself off. "God, you don't understand what it was like."

"If you just told me—"

"You want to know what it was really like?" she yelled. Suddenly she was blinking rapidly, voice choked. "Her prejudices are only part of her. She handpicked the girls for Merrick's Selection under the guise of randomness and threw myself and Sashi in as 'diverse picks'. From the start I was at a disadvantage – worst seats, amateur tailors, shortest dates. Brushed aside like I was always next to go."

Her whole body shook, exploding outwards like a charged supernova.

"I suffered through passive-aggressive taunts and belittlement behind Merrick's back. Racist language. Snipes about my caste, my family. I was treated like garbage despite my status. I say this with the utmost respect for the person who raised your father into a decent man, but Diantha Schreave is a horrible person. She does not deserve the people, and she will never deserve you."

For the longest time, the only thing heard was Ji-Yu's sharp breaths as she tried to compose herself, more difficult now that the dam had broken.

Merrick wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "This is why we never wanted you to find out. Why it must stay that way for the sake of the country." Her fingers clenched into her skin. "You understand that, right?"

He'd never seen his mother so full of anguish before. Not even the knowledge of the spy had rattled her so fiercely. "I-I understand," he said.

Merrick's face shifted, as if reading his thoughts. He studied Roy, and the tension crackled between them like electricity from a live wire.

"I was livid when I found out what you'd done. I was ready to scold you when you walked in here. But now all I feel is disappointment with you, son."

It gutted Roy through his heart.

Merrick offered his arm to Ji-Yu, but she held up a hand. "No, thank you, Merry. I just… I want to talk to Roy for a moment." And he, Delacroix and Gemima left the room without another word.

For a while, Roy and Ji-Yu pondered in silence. Ji-Yu refused to meet his eye, staring instead at the floor with her arms crossed over her chest like she was protecting her shattered heart from breaking further.

"I'm sorry," Roy said, "for what it's worth."

Ji-Yu sighed. "Merrick's Selection was equally the best and worst time of my life. Very few know the true horrors of life then. Even _Oni_ or _Oji,_ or Mimi only know what they saw on television." Her smile was bittersweet. "But life is much better now. I've made so many happy memories here that have uprooted the awful ones. I'm proud of who I was, who I am. And I wanted that for you, too."

"I am proud, Mother. Couldn't be happier with what I look like and where I come from." He tried to smile. "Already did my angsty teenage _where do I belong_ phase long ago."

She laughed. "Yes. I remember your haircut. You thought those bangs looked so good on you."

"Please don't remind me."

Her laughter whittled into quiet, and in the moment, she touched the brooch with a soft expression. "We wear this, your father, Sashi and me. To remind us what we've been through. That even in adversity, we stand united."

So the brooch did have meaning. It twinkled at Roy like a star. "Does… Does Sashi know?"

"No. She doesn't know Diantha is alive. But she knows what I went through, because she went through it, too. It is something neither of us will forget."

They'd carried this for years and years. Prepared to take it to the grave. It humbled him and he silently thanked the stars for the wonderful family he had now.

"I haven't forgiven you for disobeying us." Her voice was suddenly hard. "Don't think you're off the hook."

"You want me to sign an agreement too?"

"No. I think you realise the scale of this far more than Lady DeLaurence," she said. "But I need you to promise me not to speak of this again. I want you to tell me you'll never seek her out."

Something in his gut twisted, but he said, "I promise."

"Good." And she was the queen again, regal stance and fearsome glare. "Now, let's talk about what we're going to do with Avianna."

"I don't think she's the spy," he began. "I think she would've been… more desperate to escape from the Shell Wing after finding out." He explained how Avianna had ignored him to open the door anyway. "I know that sounds bad, but I think she just thought she was being wronged, not that she wanted to find out what was there for an ulterior motive."

"This isn't supposed to be fair, or a game," Ji-Yu countered. "She should've known there would be things the monarchy cannot just _tell_ her. She's a Selected, not a queen."

"She seemed pretty confident she would be queen one day."

Ji-Yu cocked an eyebrow. "And will she?"

He thought back to that moment. Avianna grabbing the handle. It was like a betrayal, and it wrenched him from the paradise of their romance like being in a car crash with no seat belt. Never before had a Selected girl so blatantly ignored him like that. Before he was a Selector, he was a prince.

"No. She won't."

They got on so well. They could have had so much fun together. All torn apart by one foolish decision. One mistake.

 _Roy doesn't make mistakes._

His creed echoed back to him like a cruel reminder. He tried to live by the words, but it didn't mean everyone else did, too.

Ji-Yu sighed. "We're in a complicated situation here. I would've have suggested you eliminate her outright, but this… your father is right. She may have signed an agreement, but what's to stop her telling the world anyway? She will be arrested, but it won't matter if the knowledge is out there."

"What else can we do? You want to imprison her like Diantha, as well?" His eyes went round when Ji-Yu didn't answer immediately. "You can't be serious."

"This girl knows classified secrets, Roy, and our reputation matters. And, god forbid, if she is the spy, and the rebels acquire this information… they will use it to light the last fire of their revolution. We will have a full-on _coup_ _d'état_ on our hands."

It mottled any hope for the future like charcoal, as dark and shadowy as the Shell Wing at night.

"There has to be another way," he said. "Avianna's crimes are nothing compared to Diantha's, at least emotionally. She's not a bigot, or a racist. And imprisoning her like that seems so morally devoid. Would I be forced to keep her locked up for the rest of her life, too?"

"Your judgement about her is clouded, Roy. She might not be a bigot or a racist, but she ignored a direct order from you and Advisor Chi and caused a severe security breach. She must face justice, whatever that may be." Her face was grim. "Including keeping her locked up for the rest of her life."

He couldn't believe it. "And what am I supposed to tell the other Selected girls? Her family? The rest of Illéa watching my Selection?" He threw out his hands. "That she just upped and left? Vanished from the face of the earth?"

"When she signs the papers, we can talk about it more. It's too early to make decisions like this. For now I think it's best if you take some time to reflect."

"By _me,_ you mean _us,_ right? Because I, again, didn't instigate my own _coup d'état_ to remove my mother-in-law from power and then hide it from my country and heir."

Ji-Yu made her way to the threshold, pausing by the door. "It was either that, or my life, Roy. Your father chose me, and if I were in his position, I would've done exactly the same thing."

Then she left without another word.

* * *

 **A/N:** Very backstory-orientated chapter, but after the last one, I think it's needed. I'm sooooo excited that I can finally gush about Diantha, and Merrick and Ji-Yu's past! There are always repurcussions though... Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Thank you all for your well wishes from last week. I really appreciate it *heart emoji*. Never fear though, as tsts will continue on regular schedule (er, as regular as my whims dictate lmao). Can you believe it's been fifty chapters and 300k words?! I'm honestly astounded we've got this far. So thank you again, infinitely, for sticking with this story for so long. I probably would've abandoned Roy's tale long ago were it not for your constant enthusiasm, capslock squeeing, and love.

(I'd say "here's to another fifty chapters/ 100k words!" but by my giddy aunt, if this story isn't over by then, someone kick my ass. :P)

As always, friends, thank you for favouriting, following, and reviewing, and thank you for reading.

~ GWA

NTT: "You mean you didn't even get to clean windows through your own merit?"


	51. Curiosity Killed the Cat

Getting up the next morning had been difficult. Roy just wanted to bury his head in his duvet and stay like that for the rest of the day. The nightmares had come for him last night, morphing from Newton's Wife and her gun into Diantha's withering figure, skeletal and gaunt, looming over him like a corpse from a meat hook. When she opened her mouth, deep purple poison dribbled out, and she laughed and laughed until he woke himself up.

Whatever courage he'd mustered over the last few weeks was breaking down again, slowly and surely, and even as he'd rolled over and shut his eyes, he could still hear her cackle, echoing through the hollows of his mind.

Nursing a coffee Rudy had brought him, Roy stared wistfully to the gardens as the valet prepared him for the morning.

"You look terrible," noted Rudy nonchalantly. "You could carry groceries the bags under your eyes are so large."

"Hah, hah." Roy didn't even have a retort.

Rudy laid out his suit for today. Deep grey, nearly black. Fitting. "Everything okay?"

Rudy didn't know what Roy had saw, only that he'd seen _something._ Enough to isolate Avianna.

"Yeah. Fine." He gulped. "It's just… I wish I could tell you what happened in the Shell Wing."

"I can assure you, I have no wish to know."

Still, it was eating at Roy like a leech. "Have you ever had someone hate you for being yourself?"

Rudy just raised an eyebrow. "I'm an openly gay man, Your Highness."

"Oh. Yeah." He slapped his head. "My bad. I'm really not with it today."

Surprisingly, Rudy just laughed. "That's all right." He fixed the buttons on Roy's suit before stepping back. "I… don't really know the context of such a question, but I understand what you mean. The world is much more tolerant of different people now, but there are a few who still retain backwards beliefs. For me, at least… at the beginning, I was very selective with whom I shared my sexuality. That worked well because I trusted the people who knew, but it came to a point where I was accommodating the small minority of homophobes, the people who didn't understand and the people who didn't matter. I was unhappy.

"I resolved to change that. I had to cut people out of my life, but I'm me now. I'm happy. And I hope… you are, too."

"I'm… fine. It's just… it's close to home."

"I… see…" Instead of offering the suit, Rudy sat on the edge of Roy's bed and watched the prince curiously. "Did I ever tell you how I came out to my dad?"

"No. You sure you want to share?"

"It's an amusing story," he said, grinning. "I was twenty-one. After I made my pact to be myself, I knew the first person I had to tell was my dad. Wasn't sure about his feelings towards having a gay son though. Always hoped he'd figure it out by himself. I rang him up one morning, preparing to tell it all, but I was so nervous that I… accidentally blurted that I had a girlfriend."

Roy burst out laughing. "Isn't that the worst thing that could happen?"

"It got worse," assured Rudy, laughing with him. "He visited me in Los Angeles for dinner with my supposed girlfriend. I should have come clean and admitted that not only I lied, but wasn't into women, but you know what I did instead?" He was struggling to keep a serious face. "I asked my friend, Naomi, to pretend to be my girlfriend. We had dinner, and because my dad was so ecstatic for me and I didn't want to admit I lied, I blurted that she was my fiancée."

"Oh my _god,"_ Roy said, creasing with laughter.

"You should've seen the look on her face!" Rudy crowed. "She was so mortified she practically dragged me outside and demanded I come clean. And I did, finally, admit I'd lied about it all, but my dad was so happy that I trusted him enough to tell him that he didn't even care."

"That's great," said Roy. "Nice ending to the story."

"Yes. We still laugh about it sometimes. He used to work here, you know."

"Huh?"

"My father. He used to work at the palace. Friendly with Their Majesties even now. That's how I got this job. Well, how I got my initial janitorial role, at least."

Roy smirked. "You mean you didn't even get to clean windows through your own merit?"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "Hilariously enough, I did not." He smiled. "My father's name is Clancy. I don't know if your parents ever mention him."

Memories of Diantha scourged his thoughts. _One of my attendants, Clancy, was very aware of Diantha's misgivings,_ Merrick had said yesterday. He'd helped him see Ji-Yu the night before her execution, and probably had a hand in Diantha's poisoning, as well.

"Your dad was a butler?"

Rudy narrowed his eyes. "Yes. How… did you know?"

Pieces clicked together. Rudy got a job here because Clancy had helped Merrick save Ji-Yu and take the throne. And Rudy didn't even know _why_ Clancy and his parents were friends – that their comradery stemmed from something more than just close proximity and politeness.

He was as oblivious as the rest of the world.

 _This isn't supposed to be fair, or a game,_ his mother had said. Rudy did not know, and it was for his own good, but it still felt terrible that his best friend was unaware.

"I guessed," Roy said quickly, adding a grin for good measure. "Must run in your blood, right?"

"How joyous. I inherited the trait of servitude." He waved him away. "I mean it though, Roy. If my dad hadn't reacted well… I doubt I'd talk to him at all. It would only make me feel _guilty_ about just being me, and how awful is that? Forget people out who don't like you for you. They are a waste of space and time."

He shouldn't have even thought about Diantha anymore, but it wasn't so easy to forget her. Not when her very existence was a conspiracy.

"Wise advice," Roy admitted nonetheless.

"I'm a wise man," teased Rudy, "no matter how infrequently you heed me."

Roy stuck out his tongue. He couldn't forget about Diantha, but he could keep his mouth shut and pretend she didn't exist anymore. He had no choice. The damage this knowledge could do to his parents' reputation, to _his own_ reputation, was insurmountable.

Avianna was part of now, too.

She was still in the Shell Wing. He hadn't seen her since yesterday, when guards had forced them apart and dragged her to the cells to await notice about her fate. Merrick and Ji-Yu were still discussing what to do, Ji-Yu fighting to keep her here long enough to find out whether she was the spy, even though she apparently couldn't have signed the confidentiality agreement fast enough.

No word about whether the rebels' line of intelligence had been severed, so they were waiting for confirmation – or any indication that she wasn't as innocent as she seemed.

If she wasn't the spy though, and if she was just a girl hopelessly in love with a mystery… what was she thinking right now? How was she _feeling?_

Clenching the seat rests and standing up, Roy headed for the door. "I've… got something to do."

"In jeans and T-shirt?"

"Yeah. No worries. I'll be back soon."

Roy made his way to the Shell Wing.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

There were more guards posted outside of the Shell Wing than last time. They eyed Roy as he went through the doors, and the patrol shadowed him all the way to the prison cells. This time he cast only a fleeting glance down the other way at the fork.

At the end of the prison, more guards were posted outside Avianna's door. The cells furthest from the entrance were larger than the others, designed to house inhabitants for longer. When the door opened, a cramped room opened up to him, with a cot, a slab of suspended metal for a desk and four rickety posts for a stool, a mirror and a sink, and a toilet and shower room to the side. Nothing like the lavish Selected rooms, or even Diantha's cell, this was bare minimum, basic, scraping the thin line between living and surviving.

Mascara had dried on Avianna's cheeks. She was wearing the same dress as yesterday – the fabric had been stretched thin, not designed for such abusive wear and tear. With only a few personal items scattered on the desk, she couldn't have had much to do but keep to her own thoughts. She rose at Roy's entrance from the cot, hands clenched together yet shaking violently.

"Leave us be," Roy said to the guards, who shut the door after them.

Silence beat behind his ears. Avianna stilled her tremor.

"Why am I still here?" she said. "I signed that thing. I won't talk. I promise. So why?"

The air tasted stale and musty when he breathed in slowly. "It's… a little complicated. We're still discussing the delicate matters concerning the repercussions."

" _I signed the thing,"_ she repeated more forcefully. "Even if I wanted to talk, I wouldn't know who to tell. No one would believe me anyway!"

"It's still a concern," he said, adding quickly, "for my parents and for the security advisors."

She threw up her hands. "Then what was the point of it?"

"It's just some issues we have to deal with internally." He held up his hands. "Not for me. I think we should let you go."

Her nostrils flared. "And what repercussions are _you_ facing? Not lifetime banishment. Probably just a slap on the wrist!"

"They can guarantee I won't talk." He fought the rise in his voice. "They can't with you. You're a liability."

"I'm a _liability_ now? What are your parents planning to do with me? Keep me locked up forever? _Execute_ me?"

He was so not here for thoughts of execution.

"That's not what I—"

"Then _what,_ Roy? I've been here since yesterday. No one's told me _anything._ I've barely had a visit from anyone except the captain, who told me to sign the thing or else risk worse punishment!"

"It's just a precaution," he hedged. "The security detail are worried that you'll still talk despite the agreement."

She flopped down onto the cot, ripping eye contact. "They have nothing to worry about. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardise my family. Anything I do now will affect Penelope. She's wild and ignorant and sometimes annoying as hell, but I wouldn't even think about putting her at risk like that."

"What about your parents?" he pried. "You don't think your actions will affect them, too?"

Avianna didn't say anything for a long time. Eventually, she shrugged. "So what if it does? My real dad is dead, and my real mom is an ass."

 _Managing my daughters' assets_ had sounded suspicious at the time, but now that Roy thought about it, Clarissa Hathers struck him more as an overbearing micromanager than an undercover rebel out to commit subterfuge.

She shook her head. "Penelope has her whole future ahead of her. I know I did something stupid, but I'm not going to let it affect her. Can't you tell them that?"

"What?"

She made eye contact again with a twinge of desperation. "Can't you put in a word for me?"

"I don't think I'm in the good books of the captain right now."

"Who cares? You're the prince! He has to listen to you!" She scowled. "If you're not here to release me, then why are you?"

He wanted her to exhibit some sign, _something_ , that indicated she was the spy. Wanted it to be her so they could deal with it appropriately and keep the secret forever. But here was just a girl who loved her sister and let her curiosity get the better of her.

 _Curiosity killed the cat._ And where was the satisfaction to bring her back?

Roy shoved his hands into his jean pockets, if anything so he could hide how they were shaking. "I wanted to check if you were okay."

"And do _you_ think I'm a concern?"

"I asked you to leave in the Shell Wing, and you disobeyed me. _That_ is cause for concern."

"I'm not a servant, Roy. I told you I knew something was wrong, that your family was hiding something. They were hiding it from you, too." Suddenly, she puffed out her chest. "I don't regret it."

"But—"

"The boy I wanted a future with, the boy I was starting to fall in love with, has locked me up like an animal. And look at you. You're not even slightly remorseful for me. You sound just like one of those faceless guards who's deliberately keeping me in the dark." She stared at him squarely. "You won't go to the captain for my sake. Are you even fighting for my release?"

Roy fought to keep his shame at bay. He hadn't seen Delacroix since yesterday, or even Merrick since they'd parted on such wayward terms either, and he'd be lying if he said he was giving up a limb for her rights. Heart thundering, he tried to force something off his tongue, but nothing would come out.

Avianna just scoffed. "So that's it, then. There's nothing more to say."

Was it all for naught?

"Avianna—"

"Just leave, Your Highness. Come back when you can finally let me go home to Penelope."

It flushed through him like a heavy rainfall of icy water. Even the sweat dripping down his back seemed to freeze at her callousness. Knitting his fingers together, he nodded once in reverence, in mourning for their shattered relationship, and left the room.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Somehow the evening seemed even more devoid of love than it had been in that room. In the dining room, his parents ate their dinner in silence as Mimi upheld conversation for their entire table, chattering on about crowns and vaults and expensive habits.

The Selected girls had noticed Avianna's absence, but without Roy confirming her elimination, no one was willing to say anything about it. Stories ought to have reached the tabloids by now, with Clarity and Rainerd swimming around unnoticed, and gossip was going to spread faster than a forest fire. Where was she? Had she been caught with a guard or a butler? Maybe sold secrets to the Southern Rebels?

When dessert came, Roy was ready to shove the entire Mississippi Mud Pie in his mouth before Ji-Yu nudged him.

"You went to see Avianna?" she broached quietly.

"Yeah. To see if she was the—" He caught himself. "Er, to see if she was okay. Not _bored,_ or anything."

"I see." Ji-Yu ladled the spoon to her mouth, and whispered, "Tonight. I'll bring Lady Chi."

It had started to rain by the time Roy and company had set up in his bedroom, the Board swinging from the bed posts like a proud banner standard amidst a mountain of cadavers. Roy had tentatively stuck the felt _X_ on Avianna's portrait – there was no way she was staying after this, if she got out at all.

Ji-Yu had settled into the sofas. "What did you discuss with Avianna?"

"I just wanted to see if she was the spy," he said. "Despite what we think of her mother, I don't think she herself is."

"Yes. It appears the rebels have maintained a steady stream of intelligence even though Lady DeLaurence is behind bars, so I've come to doubt a possible allegiance to them on her part. They knew she'd disappeared before the papers did."

Great. He flopped back in his armchair and said nothing as Rudy wordlessly pressed the _X_ more firmly to her portrait.

"What do we do with her now? Release her?"

"No. Merrick is still deciding an appropriate punishment alone. I think he's swayed towards lifetime imprisonment," Ji-Yu said slowly, as if gauging the reaction of the room. "Even if she signed the confidentiality agreement, she still committed treason. That's grounds for incarcerate her until she dies."

Roy shut his eyes to shoo the delusions of Avianna, broken and beaten in her cell. She'd hear the news soon enough. She would resent him, hate him, for the rest of her days. Bitter and angry like Diantha.

Ji-Yu pursed her lips. "I know it seems morally apprehensible, but ultimately it's mine and Merrick's decision, and since this affects Merrick more, I agree with whatever decision he makes."

His heart lurched in remorse. If he argued with Merrick, would the outcome change? He highly doubted it.

"Let's move on," said Ji-Yu. "We're left with seven possible spy candidates. Rudy," she looked at him, "do you have any further information regarding Lady Bellini-Torres?"

"I do, Your Majesty," said Rudy. "Her maids have said she has been more… restless and secretive as of late. An example being, she's started asking them to knock before entering during the evenings."

"Odd," said Ji-Yu.

"Apparently, she used to frequently use her laptop in their presence, but has since asked them to leave when she uses it. Perhaps she's hiding something on it."

"Online communication is heavily monitored by security," said Gemima. "If she is conducting illicit activities via Internet, it'd be difficult to hide the evidence. We'd only need to track her laptop address."

Roy snorted. "This doesn't mean much. She could just be writing some weird fanfiction or something."

"I suppose. She can't communicate with rebel forces," Ji-Yu said, "so there's no issue with it for now, but keep an ear open, Rudy, and Roy, make sure she doesn't seem out of character."

If he was honest, Luna was the last person he pegged as spy. Even Katrina had a higher chance. Whatever she was doing was probably private, and better left untouched, but resolved to keep it in mind when seeing her next.

"I also… have some further information that may have use," said Rudy, "regarding Lady Nichols."

 _Ambrosia?_ "What about her?" said Roy.

"She's started to dismiss her maids more often. Apparently she's never allowed the maids to dress or bathe her, but since the banquet, her behaviour has become downright solitary."

Ambrosia did seem the type of person to become _solitary,_ but why now? Was it something about her family that had triggered such a reaction?

"Note it down," said Ji-Yu. "That'll be something to consider as well."

"If I may, Your Majesty, Your Highness," Durante's voice slipped through. Roy turned around to see Durante stood passed the room's threshold. "I'd also like to contribute some information."

"Go on," said Ji-Yu.

"Many of the Selected have chosen to forgo protocol when travelling around the palace – as in, they go without a guard escort. Lady DeLaurence is a recent example, but Lady Belmont has been spotted without a guard, as well."

Elise was the one who had told Avianna about the secret passage to the Shell Wing in the first place. Who was to say she hadn't explored the area before as well?

Ji-Yu massaged her temple. "What is it about having a permanent guard escort that these girls don't understand?"

"Yeah," said Roy. "A lot of them… _really_ like exploring." Couldn't they all just stand, like, still, for once?

"If it's any consolation," Durante continued, "Lady Daugherty now travels with her guard, even beyond the gates of the palace, and Lady Landowski makes little effort to explore the palace. I always see her with an officer… often, she is bombarding them with questions."

"What of Lady Carter?"

"I don't see much of her. Most of her time is either spent in her own room, or the Women's Room. She explores very little without Miss Shields, though Officer Tweaks did mention her walking about the gardens alone once. If anything, it's Miss Shields who doesn't travel escorted. One time, I had to show her back to her quarters because she was hopelessly lost."

"I'm not worried about Miss Shields." Ji-Yu sighed. "Will I have to reiterate to the Selected how important it is to have an escort? I don't want a repeat of the godforsaken Bonfire Ball."

Rudy frowned. "Whilst you have the right trail of thought, Your Majesty, I think we all need to be wary about guards, too. Even they can betray our trust."

No one said Acketeer's name, but it rolled through the room like a hive mind.

"Yes," Ji-Yu agreed. "That's why we must continue to exercise caution about this, and remain quiet about—"

"Something going on?"

Blood smashed in Roy's ears. He whipped around to see Merrick step behind Durante. His eyes were zipping around the room, fixating on the Board—

Durante spun around and threw up his hands. "S-Sire! No! We were just— er, just—" He babbled as Roy and Ji-Yu launched out of their chairs like they'd hit the _eject seat_ button in a desperate attempt to block the Board from view.

"Ji? Advisor Chi? Why are you both here?"

Roy's heart spiked. It wasn't too late. Maybe he hadn't seen it. Maybe he didn't suspect anything.

Ji-Yu's face had turned white and clammy. "Just here to discuss Roy's Selection, Merry! This is nothing at all!" Her voice had pitched high like she'd swallowed helium.

But Merrick narrowed his eyes. "What's that thing behind you?"

 _Don't look too closely,_ Roy begged inwardly."We were discussing… who I should marry!" he blurted. "That's what— that's the Board's purpose! So I can see which girl I want to win the Selection."

"Yes!" Ji-Yu chimed. "He just wanted some… womanly wisdom… from his mother and his advisor!"

Merrick pushed passed Durante, Rudy and Gemima, coming face-to-face with Roy and Ji-Yu. "As far as I was last made aware, Rudy and Officer Durante are not women." He drew the syllables out slowly like tearing a sheet of metal in half. "You seem… very desperate to hide it…"

"No!" Roy shrieked, then lowered his voice. "No. Not hide! It's just… it's private! It has—" he frantically scrounged for something, "it has my personal deep, dark, angsty poetry! Bloody tears and black hearts, and all that!"

But Merrick frowned. "Now I know you're lying. Both of you." He met their gazes, darting back and forth between them. As the moments of silence ticked by, his face darkened like storm clouds crawling over the horizon. "I'm no fool. What's really going on?"

Such a simple question was enough to spill dread all throughout Roy's body. He reluctantly stepped out of the way, Ji-Yu moving as well, as Merrick roved over the notes, the suspicious hints, each scribble about the spy, Skye and otherwise. Even though her portrait was missing, the important details of her betrayal were not.

Everything.

It was all there for Merrick to see, and he was absorbing it all by the growing redness of his face.

"What _is_ this?" Merrick growled, low and terrifying. "Your Selected…"

His eyes flared. He knew. He knew about the second spy.

* * *

 **A/N:** Whomp. That isn't good. How will Merrick react? Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Random update day partly because I can't post Friday or Sunday, but mostly because it's tsts' birthday! Two years to the day, I posted the first chapter, and what a wild ride it's been. (It's also the 20th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts which is not related but still super cool, lolol.) Thank you for still reading, even with a dodgy update schedule and haituses (haiti...?) galore.

I think I've finalised my outline, and I've got about twenty-ish chapters left to write. I suspect when I actually get to certain chapters I'll break things up or add scenes, but for now, it's about twenty.

So it looks like the end is nigh...

... but so are the rebels...

~ GWA

NTT: "He was going to find out anyway. I guess it had to be like this."


	52. Speak from the Heart

Merrick knew about the second spy.

Shakily, he drew his glasses from his pocket to make sure he'd read the Board correctly. Again and again, his eyes glossed over the notes, the tidbits, the signs and dead ends, each suspicion that Roy had recorded over the last three months.

"It's not what it looks like—" Roy began.

"What is this supposed to look like?" He whirled on them both, red-faced, cheeks puffed. "You knew about the first rebel in the Selected! And you know there's… there's another, right here, in the palace! In our home!"

 _Shit,_ Roy thought without abandon. Merrick was going to find out eventually, but not like this, never like this. His face was enough to shatter Roy's confidence.

Ji-Yu placed a hand on his arm. "Merry—"

He yanked back. "Do you know how serious this is? How much danger we're in? How much danger _you're_ in, Roy?" He choked out a scoff. "I-I can't believe you wouldn't tell me something as significant as this! A rebel spy, here!"

"We've been handling it ourselves," said Ji-Yu, careful not to raise her voice, but unable to hide the brittleness of it either.

"Then who is it? Who is the spy?"

Roy's legs felt like they'd been filled with lead. "We haven't figured it out yet, but—"

"This is ridiculous. Simply ridiculous!" Merrick cut across. "I have my family to protect and you didn't entrust this information to me, and you don't even have anything to show for it! Do you know how absurd that is? I am the ruler of this country, yet I don't even know what's going on in my own home!"

Ji-Yu blurted, "We didn't want you to worry—"

"And you think the smartest decision was to keep it from me? For my wife and son to plot and scheme behind my back all this time?"

It was spiralling out of control. Roy started forwards, but Merrick stepped back.

"I-I can't believe you. I— It's just—"

He said nothing else and stormed out.

Tears had collected in Ji-Yu's eyelashes. "Merry, wait!" She chased after him.

Roy wished he had the strength to seek his father like Ji-Yu did, to try and make him see reason. But instead he stayed rooted to the spot, his outstretched hand reluctantly returning to his side like a timid tide on a stony beach.

Gemima shook her head. "That could've gone better."

"No kidding," he choked out. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure. I think we ought to leave Her Majesty to placate him."

It didn't seem right to dump the responsibility on Ji-Yu's shoulders and leave it at that, but he was too jumbled to do anything else right now.

"I… I'm sorry," Durante said quietly. "I-I didn't even hear him approach. I-I was too busy thinking about the escort guards…"

"It's not your fault," said Roy. "He was going to find out anyway. I guess it had to be like this."

Now he understood how Merrick had felt when Roy discovered the Diantha secret. It was too soon for him to know – but it was _always_ too soon. In trying to protect the ones they loved, they harmed them instead in a vicious, vindictive circle.

Calmly, Rudy unhooked the Board from the bedposts and returned it to the bathroom. "What will His Majesty do now, though?"

More importantly, would he reveal their advantage in some vain attempt to root out the spy? Would he cancel the Selection?

If he did, if he reacted blindly out of anger and pushed the Selected out of the palace for good, then all this was for naught, and their element of surprise would drain faster down the toilet than Roy's future. He fidgeted with his hands and paced.

"I have to help Mother convince him to continue the Selection. I need him to see that we're doing this for a good reason, and I can't do that if I just stay here and wait."

"Then go," said Gemima. He looked at her, and she smiled. "Go. We can finish clearing away."

He hesitated still, but, compelled by his gut, he made his way to Merrick's office.

It was a good guess that Merrick and Ji-Yu would be there. The guards outside the door had been dismissed, and the yells were high enough to reach his ears from the other end of the corridor. Roy grasped tightly on his resolve before thrusting the door open, the room air stale and heated with argument. Merrick at one end of his office and Ji-Yu besides the door, as if she could retreat at any moment. They both whipped to face him – Ji-Yu with a hint of relief, Merrick with scorn.

"I suppose you're taking your mother's side on this ridiculous stand?"

Roy shut the door behind him. "Yes."

"You two and rebels. I can't even fathom it—" He bored down with his eyes like green storms, deadly and destructive. "This is why you've both been so apathetic, isn't it? About the Southern Rebel threat? You've known one has been here this whole time, trying to use it to your advantage somehow. And I have been foolish enough not to see it—"

"We kept it from you deliberately," reiterated Ji-Yu. "Frankly, I'm glad you didn't know until now."

Merrick slammed a fist down onto the table. "Don't you see how reckless this is? How one mistake can cost our lives? These people are in our _home,_ let alone the central headquarters of our country's security." It came out fragile. "Near you both. Near our family. My only son, my jewel of a daughter and my pregnant wife."

Startling how one moment he could sound like a hurricane, as strong and unyielding as Diantha Schreave herself, and next dissipated into a vulnerable and scared wheeze. Ji-Yu's hard face softened slightly, but she only clenched her fists tighter.

"We're not helpless, Merrick. We both discussed what doing this would mean, and we both accepted the consequences, whatever they may have been."

"We're adults," said Roy. "Capable of making our own decisions."

"Just three months ago you were sneaking off without our knowledge to nightclubs and parties in LA!" Merrick scoffed. "You've been drugged and kidnapped and cajoled by the rebels since the start of your Selection, and yet you somehow believe this is the way forwards? I won't have it. I will cancel the Selection and send them all away at once."

Shame blundered through Roy, hot and fast, but he banished the thoughts. That was his past, and he'd finally made peace with it and moved on. Merrick did not get to use it against him.

"You won't cancel the Selection. Not when I'm still here," said Roy firmly. "I chose this path for myself when I agreed to continue the Selection, even after I found out about the spies. You're threatening to unravel everything we've done and I won't have it."

"I am your father!"

"And I am your future!" Roy shot back. "This is my decision, and mine only!"

They glared at each other, and it could've pierced through stone. Though he feared that his father would make the wrong choice anyway, he pulled together his crumbled confidence and did not bow.

Merrick broke away first. "This is absurd," he muttered. "I know we can't continue as we have. I want you to have a bodyguard around the clock everywhere in the palace." He waved them out as a dismissal. "I need time to think about how to proceed. Leave me."

Though Roy marched out with his arms swinging, Ji-Yu hesitated by the door.

"We have our family to protect, too, Merrick," she said. "You're not the only one with that burden."

She followed Roy out and closed the door. Fuming, Roy didn't wait as she caught up to his side, guards reappearing from the shadows to flank them.

"Do you think he'll cancel the Selection?" he asked.

Ji-Yu was silent for a moment. "I don't know. I know how he feels, when I first learnt of the spy. You're torn between purging your home of a threat or using the situation to an advantage, and it's not a decision you can make lightly." The admittance seemed to ripple across her face like wrinkles in a disturbed pool. "I wouldn't wish that position on anyone else."

"Except me?"

Ji-Yu gave him a sympathetic smile. "Were it not your Selection, and your heart to be gambled, I might not have. This is going to be a long day."

She paused at the one of the windows, overlooking to back courtyard. With the fountain off, the acres were eerily still, as if anticipating Merrick's decision as much as the next person.

"When was the last time you saw one of your Selected girls?" said Ji-Yu suddenly.

"Nice subject change. Very subtle."

"I mean it, son. Breakfast doesn't count."

Roy sighed. "If we're not counting Avianna either, then it was the banquet, a few days ago."

"Take the day off. Go see them – at least one of them. Visit the Women's Room."

"Why?" he said, gesturing back to Merrick's office. "It's not really a good time to spend time with them when they might not even be here tomorrow morning."

"That's exactly the reason you should." She left him, still somewhat rueful, but with a twinkle in her eye.

 **=#=#=#** =

 **=#=#=#=**

Still reeling with adrenaline, Roy took a brief walk around the palace before deciding he was calm enough to visit the remaining Elite. He heard the cheers from the Women's Room even with the doors closed, but was surprised to see Eulalia lingering outside the door, without her charge for once.

"Is Lilly already inside?" he asked.

Eulalia spun to face him. "Oh! Er, no, Lilly's in her bedroom, Your Highness."

"Why aren't you with her?"

"She's writing letters to her family. Misses them terribly after the dinner, so I gave her some privacy. It's the least I can do." She rocked on her heels. "I was gonna'… well, I don't know. I figured I could go to the Women's Room to wait for her, but I'm not really… _one_ of them, you know?"

"Nonsense. You're basically a Selected," he winked, "without the heartbreak."

"That's one way to see it," Eulalia laughed.

Roy gestured to the door attendant, and he announced them both. Eulalia tiptoed passed the threshold, but seven cheerful faces, plus Katrina's sour attempt, grinned when she entered, crowded around the small birch table with a set of cards scattered upon the surface.

"Hey, Roy, Eulals!" called Maeve. "Come in! We're playing Snap! I'm winning."

"You are definitely _not_ winning," Katrina barked. "Just because you have the biggest hands!"

"I told you I counted," said Camilla, deadpan. "You're losing by three."

"Lies!" Katrina bellowed. "You're obviously not reliable and biased to Maeve. I see right through your treachery. Elise, count!"

Elise squeaked, "I'm not getting involved!"

Katrina and Maeve bickered, with fleeting attempts by Ambrosia and Luna to placate them, though failing miserably. Roy wavered at the door. It seemed strange to see them all here except Lilly. Maybe the family visit had affected her more negatively than he realised; although it was fair to say at least half of the girls here were happier than not that their families had gone home.

"I think I'll go check on Lilly," he said.

Eulalia widened her eyes. "I… that's not a good idea."

He shrugged. "I'll just see if she's okay. Promise I won't take too much of her time."

"No, I really don't think it's a good idea…" She straightened. "I should come with you."

"You just got here. Don't worry."

Eulalia looked like she could say more, but only added a little wave of her hand. "Okay, Your Highness."

He left their loud chatter for the quiet, unnatural silence of the Selected Wing. So many rooms vacant now. What had once been a corridor full of bustling maids and ladies was no more than a ghost of its former self. It was a bitter reminder, like he'd somehow lost an innocence of his own.

He door was the easiest to spot; instead of a knocker, a soft 'doorbell' button had been installed. Pressing it turned on a strobe light inside her room to alert her someone was at the door.

After a few moments, the door eked open. Lilly peered out with the tilt of her hair, her long blonde hair spilling down her shoulder. She shied immediately at the sight of him, but he'd already spotted the red puffs around her eyes, the skin marred by uneven blotches.

"Hi," he said, although he knew she couldn't hear how breathless that sounded. "Are you okay?"

He hoped his diction was clear enough for her to understand. She bit her lip, considering, but shut the door again. Shuffles of papers and feet. Lilly reopened a moment later with her phone's notepad app open.

 _I'm okay,_ it read.

Genius. Why didn't he think of that? Social media was her thing, of course, so obviously she used it to text and message. He slid out his own phone and typed a reply.

 _You don't look okay,_ he wrote. _No offence,_ he scrabbled to add quickly.

She softened at the message before letting him inside. He wasn't surprised by her décor choice: draped fairy lights hung from hooks on the walls, bleeding warm colours onto her silk bedsheets and fluffy pillows. She'd framed a flat, gold-plated trophy – something to do with Instagraph subscribers – and placed it on her vanity table, but every other surface was covered in photo frames of her family or her life back in Kent.

She must have missed them so much.

Scattered on her desk were blank lined papers and unused envelopes, with pink-coloured pens and annotated Polaroids. The chair had been moved, so it was obvious she was sitting there just moments before Roy came along.

She lifted her smudged hands to sign, only to halt halfway through her first one. Habit, probably. She gestured to her bed for him to sit and reclaimed the chair. It was squishier than he imagined. She typed a message for a long time, deleting words and adding more before finally showing him.

 _I'm sorry for my appearance,_ she began. _I miss my family more than I realise. If I'd have known you'd come, I would have cleaned myself up more._

 _Don't worry about it,_ he typed back. _I probably shouldn't show up unannounced._

She glanced at the mirror on her wardrobe and shook her head. _Gosh, I really am such a mess,_ she wrote back. A small laugh scratched free from her throat and she added, _My mascara is everywhere. I didn't think this would make me cry so much. Is it obvious?_

He laughed this time. _That you've been crying? Yeah. You're even sniffling._

She sniffled and then laughed again, a strangely angelic sound despite her appearance. She rubbed hastily with her hands, but the mascara only splattered it further down her cheek. _I'm sorry I'm not presentable._

 _You don't have to always be presentable to me. I mean, you remember my party, right?_

 _I've never seen you so unhinged._ She cringed as she showed the message, but Roy just laughed harder.

 _Unhinged is the perfect word to describe how I felt._ He typed more. _You're writing home, then?_

 _Yes, and other people, like my friend, Emily._

Such a kind gesture. The boon of technology had rendered a lot of snail mail totally obsolete, and nowadays it was seen more as a romantic or poetic way to express feelings, the handwritten curves adding a personal flavour to a message. This was no different.

 _Can I see?_ he dared to ask.

Her face whitened, and she typed quickly, _It's private. I'd rather not show you. I'm sorry._

 _That's okay._ It was a far-out request. Honestly, he was just curious to see her handwriting. _Is Emily a friend from Kent then?_

She juggled her head, then typed. _Yes and no. We went to the same school, but she doesn't know ISL, so we don't meet up very much. But we talk all the time online._

How could they sustain such a relationship? Roy didn't understand 'Internet friends' much since he'd had his online life so heavily monitored from the beginning, but the fact that Lilly was sending her a letter was enough indication that they were better friends than he expected.

 _That's great. You send letters to more people, too?_

 _My family. That's it._

He frowned when he read the message. Did she not have… any other friends? She was unemployed before the Selection, and most of her life consisted of her relationships online… perhaps she was lonelier than she appeared.

But she had the Selected. And Eulalia now.

Something tickled his memories, and he ended up slowly typing. _Do you remember our date, a month ago?_

She smiled sweetly when she read the message. _How could I forget it?_

His thumbs fidgeted. _You and Eulalia had an argument in the middle of it. Will you tell me why?_

Her face fell. She spent a few moments staring at her phone before finally articulating a reply. _Eulalia and I sometimes argue about silly things. You shouldn't concern yourself with it. I'm surprised you still remember._

To be honest, he hardly remembered what they were all talking about before they argued in sign language. Something about their relationship with one another?

 _I just remember it well,_ he wrote. _I thought it was something that was serious._

Lilly bit her lip before writing. _In truth, Eulalia and I didn't always get along at first. She thought my head too stuck in the clouds, and I thought her too dull and boring and plain._

Ouch. Roy recoiled at the words. Lilly's shoulders sunk as she continued to type, and refused to look him in the eye when she showed him the message.

 _We argued the first night here. She told me it was unbecoming of a Selected lady to dream so big and so blithely. She thought some of my wishes were unrealistic and childish._

He'd never have suspected Eulalia could be someone like that. _You had just met and she said those things to you?_

 _Yes. I goaded her, though, criticising her appearance. She was my translator, someone who would represent me here, and I wanted her to at least try to dress the part, but she refused to wear anything expensive._

After a moment, she quietly tapped, _You must think I'm horrible now._

He composed his reply carefully, delicately, like he would pressing a dried flower onto a page. _I think you were new to the palace and overwhelmed by the circumstances. You know now you did something wrong?_

 _Yes. That's why we were arguing at the date. Since you brought it up as well, she's been trying to dress better for your sake._

Roy's hands glided over the keyboard. _It's not wrong to want someone to dress nicely._ _I think your argument has more grounding than Eulalia's, no offence to her. What do you dream for? What about it does she find unrealistic and childish?_

Lilly did not type immediately. Her eyes searched Roy for something – perhaps mocking, or vindication, or something that would twist her words against her. A gentle smile tugged his lips, hoping it conveyed all the trust he could.

Her gaze ripped away and she typed. _I always wanted to be an author._

 _That_ was what Eulalia thought _unrealistic?_ "That's ridiculous," he said, before typing it out on his phone.

 _I dream of trying lots of things I never could even imagine I could achieve in Kent,_ she continued. _I want the fancy dinners, the balls and ball gowns, travelling the world, maybe modelling a little. I want a private stretch of beach, or to see the Aurora Borealis. I know they're petty and silly and vapid dreams, which is why Eulalia holds it against me. I can't do those things if I am queen, and as Sashi's lessons progress, I'm starting to doubt I can be queen material._

Her sadness seemed to coil around her. _I have to give it all up to be here. That's what she said to me during the date. Eulalia thinks I want the luxury without the work._

 _And do you?_

Fresh tears sparkled in her eyes. _I know how badly I want the luxuries._

 _And me?_ he asked.

She couldn't look at him. _You're the biggest luxury of them all, Roy._

Lilly's mother words rolled in his head. _Lilly always talked about you before the Selection, you know. I think she liked you a lot._ Maybe that was what she meant; that she couldn't have her dreams, couldn't have _him,_ without suffering as well.

Roy fumbled with his phone. This was a lot to process.

 _Don't listen to Eulalia,_ he wrote. _You have to put duty to your country before duty to yourself, but that doesn't mean you can't do all those things. You still have time for yourself. Sashi tells me everyone is excelling in class, so you're doing fine._

 _And even if I didn't chose you as my bride, the fame of being an Elite gives you a lot of new opportunities. You could do anything you wanted. No door is closed to you._

She squeezed her phone and inhaled a long, sharp breath. Wiping her tears away, she smiled and wrote, _That's kind of you. It doesn't feel like there are open doors for me. I feel trapped._

 _You always have a choice,_ Roy wrote. _If you decide to stay, I'm happy to have you here. If you want to leave, you can._

 _I don't want to leave._

 _Then ignore Eulalia, and listen to someone who's lived as a royal his whole life. You can do all those things and more, as you are now or, maybe, as a queen._ He winked as he showed her, _No promises about that last thing though. I'm still trying to decide myself._

She giggled, and though it was choked and filled with sadness, it still made Roy's heart soar. _Thank you. Your kindness is beyond any written appreciation._

He stood up. _I'll let you write your letters._

He was surprised to get a _ping_ on his phone; a message from Lilly on his Instagraph. _Thank you. If you wish to talk to me directly, without Eulalia, this is the best channel. I feel I should I say don't hate or resent her whatsoever, but sometimes her presence can be stifling._

Somehow she could find goodness in her situation, in a partner that wanted to ground her. "I know how it feels," he said before he could help it. Just as he crossed out of her room, she squeezed his hand. Another sign of appreciation that could only be shared between them.

The way his heart gurgled like an excited new-born baby left him dreaming of good things to come, and worried that his own happily ever after was not so simple as he liked to believe.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

That was the first night Roy had nightmares.

Normally he didn't dream, but today, it was as vivid and realistic like he could touch every piece of grit falling from the stone walls, taste the stale air as it fought to escape the room. The lightbulbs fluttered in and out, giving way to darkness and then not, shadows undulating, reality twisting.

And Roy was strapped to a chair. He was sweating down to his shoes – loafers. Not his pyjamas clinging to him, but a suit, hot and suffocating like a cord around his neck.

Newton's Wife appeared to him. It replayed like a broken CD, fixated on one scene.

Gun to forehead. Finger on trigger.

Roy shut his eyes like his body was already shutting down, too. Giving up and giving in. Even though he could still see everything perfectly, and could hear the bang of the gun.

When he opened them again, the scene had changed. It was no longer him in the chair, but Avianna, screaming and writhing to be set free. Instead of Newton's Wife, Diantha was looming over Avianna, howling with laughter though no sound emitted from her throat.

She crooked her head towards Roy's disembodied self. "Your Highness?"

Avianna screeched. _Set me free,_ she was screaming her throat raw.

"Your Highness?" Diantha said again, more desperate. "Wake up!"

Roy gasped and awoke.

He wasn't in the interrogation room, but in his bed, the covers flung off inelegantly to the floor. Light from the hallway seared passed the door guard's silhouette, his hand clenched on the door knob.

"Are you okay, Your Highness?"

Heart racing, Roy forced his breathing to even out. He was having nightmares now, too? Would this malicious delusion never leave him alone?

"I-I'm fine," he croaked, massaging his temples. "I'm fine. Just a nightmare."

"You were screaming. Do you want me to call someone?"

 _Screaming?_ "No."

The door guard nodded. "Very well, sir. I'm outside if you need me."

Roy retrieved his comforter when the guard closed the door. Body sticky with sweat, he ended up sticking out his legs to air out, and tried to shut his eyes to sleep. Part of him did not want the darkness to come claim him again. The nightmare could return with a vengeance.

But when he couldn't keep his mind from wandering any longer, sleep consumed him.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The next day, everyone was preparing for the Report.

Ji-Yu was besides herself with worry, of course, but she had no idea what Merrick planned to say. They had some tax revisions to go over, some new council seat vacancies to announce, but she suspected he hadn't written everything he wanted to address on the teleprompter or on his notes.

Today could make or break the Selection.

Joining the bustle would've at least distracted Roy from the cloud of grey swelling in his chest again, festering more fervently since last night. He'd taken a chair at the back as the crew finalised seating arrangements and podium placement, watching the producer muttering to Merrick at the other end of the room.

" _Are you busy?"_

Roy nearly missed Young-Sook's soft voice. He stood up immediately and offered her the seat. But she shook her head.

" _Come with me."_

Wordlessly, he did. Young-Sook may have sounded gentle, but every word carried her prowess, and though she shuffled along, taking Roy's outstretched arm until they were in a quiet corridor, she didn't once hesitate or shy away. Chin in air, she carried grace like it was a cloak on her shoulders.

" _Here."_ They'd come to the Chateau Drawing Room, with its cherry wood and red upholstery. " _This is my favourite room. Let's sit in here."_

One of the attendants brought her green tea in an ancient china set, but she had them dismissed and poured the cups themselves, giving one to Roy when she was done. He didn't like green tea very much – or any tea, really – but this was a weak solution, not meant for enthusiasts. Easy to wash down.

" _We can't stay for too long, Oni. We have to be on the Report in an hour."_

" _This won't take long."_ She regarded him softly, sadly, but with no pity – only like he'd been cut deep and was refusing help. " _I heard you screaming last night."_

Blood rushed to his cheeks. She was staying in another corridor! How the hell could she have heard?

" _I like to walk through the palace early in the morning,"_ she said, as if reading his mind. " _It calms me, the quiet. Yet, you did not sound calm."_

He shrugged. " _It was a nightmare. One-off thing."_

She nursed the rim of her tea and set it down on the bamboo placemat. " _Then please explain your nightmare during the families' banquet."_

The blood rush in his cheeks drained until he was white and cold. " _How did you—?"_

" _I needed only to look at you to see,"_ she said. " _Is it because of the kidnapping?"_

Roy fidgeted with the cup. " _Yeah. Don't worry about it."_

" _Of course I worry. My grandson suffering from PTSD, and nobody says a word about it to you, or comforts you."_

The world seemed to turn a little greyer. PTSD. He shook his head. " _Sorry, Oni, you're mistaken. I don't have PTSD."_

" _Those delusions, those nightmares are a symptom of PTSD, Jun. I know it when I see it."_

" _But how?"_ he argued. " _It's been weeks. I've been fine for weeks."_

Young-Sook refilled her teacup. " _Sometimes it takes weeks, months, or even years. It is like a patient snake in the grass, waiting until the right time to strike."_ She sipped the tea, and the heat curled up from the brim and patted her wrinkled cheeks. " _It took many weeks for it to manifest in me when I was discharged from hospital duty after the Wars of New Asia."_

Young-Sook had been a doctor during the time of the New Asian Wars. She couldn't have been much older than he was now. Seeing her as she was – proud, elegant, but still soft – he couldn't imagine her going through this either.

" _I didn't know you had it."_

" _It wasn't a secret, but I suppose your mother would neglect to tell you something about me as awful as this. But this information has use now."_ She reached over to hold his hand. " _You know that Korea and China disputed territory around the border, and it turned into a mad scramble to defend land for one side, and to claim it for the other. I was a doctor of medicine, fresh from studies, and to the government, I could be used to help win the war._

" _I was stationed in Korea, but the injured soldiers came in from far and wide. Sometimes patients were so bloody they weren't recognisable as human. I was so wrapped up in saving these people that I forgot to react to the horror of it all, and it built up to affect me emotionally."_

She squeezed his hand and looked him squarely in the eye. " _I had delusions. I had nightmares. I thought the darkness would never end. Same as you. But when I finally recognised it, when friends and family finally told me to seek help, I did. Every day, with therapy, I would recover, even slightly, believing in the goodness of humanity again, that there is more to me than the hauntings of the soldiers I couldn't save."_

Young-Sook relinquished her hold. Roy didn't realise his hands were shaking. He put the teacup down as it spilt droplets onto the carpet, feeling like droplets could spill from his eyes in a moment.

" _It's not something you have to live with, and not something you have to sort alone. Will you seek help? Please?"_

" _Who will help me?"_ he said.

" _A psychiatrist, in all likelihood."_

He inhaled sharply. Somehow the idea of going to a psychiatrist and breaking down into tears, opening up to a complete stranger, wasn't a comfort. But this persistent mantle he had burdened for the last few weeks was beginning to weigh him down, so hard he could barely walk anymore.

" _They know what they're doing,"_ she said. " _It may never go away, this trauma, but it can be controlled."_

" _So, is that it, now?"_ he spat, suddenly angry. " _I'm a basket case? One thing and it pushes me over the edge?"_

" _Don't you speak like that. Insulting yourself, me, and all PTSD sufferers_ ," she snapped back, and she sounded so like Ji-Yu Roy nearly double-took. Her face relaxed. _"You are strong at heart, Jun. So strong and brave for undergoing something like that. But you are not invincible, no matter what your title may say about you."_

 _I am the prince._

Thinking it made him untouchable, yet he was not.

Roy took a drink of tea, long and languishing, and it scalded as it fell down his throat. " _I'm sorry for being insulting. I just… I don't have time for this."_

" _You don't have time to be human?"_

It lodged any argument back in his throat.

" _Will you seek help?"_ she asked again.

His lips pulled down his face like a frown had been frozen into place. " _… Okay. I'll… go see Dr Nagi tomorrow."_

" _Dr Nagi doesn't specialise in mental health, so if you want, I will pass word to her to contact someone else who can help you."_

" _Yes, thank you."_

She smiled. " _Remember: if_ _you are hard up for something, it will open up."_

A chuckle bubbled from him. A Korean idiom that meant: there was always a way out.

" _Thanks, Oni."_

" _Now drink your tea before it goes cold. Green was always your favourite, right?"_

" _I don't like tea."_

" _You don't like—"_ She gasped dramatically, placing her hand to her chest. " _That's an offensive thing if I've ever heard one!"_

He snorted. " _You're worse than cousins Alex and Barney."_

They could have squabbled about tea for the rest of the day. After forty minutes, though, an attendant threw open the door, sweat beading his face, asking for them to hurry to the studio to prepare for the Report. Hair and make-up artists claimed the last few moments of their time before they rushed to the tiers with Ji-Yu, Gail, Hwan and Mimi.

Roy stewed on dark thoughts even with the smile plastered onto his face. PTSD and princehood… did they mix? What would Illéa think? If he started therapy sessions with a professional, would word get out to the press and the rest of the country about his condition? As far as he was aware, it was a first for the line of succession: a royal with suffering mental health.

He hated having to worry about that. About what everyone would think. It was a personal thing that any normal person would keep to themselves or close-knit family. But he was a public figure, and like a jar of cookies, everyone felt like they owned a piece of him.

Merrick rattled on about the country's state of affairs, but Roy couldn't listen. What would the girls think? A man to be their husband, broken before they'd even begun.

 _Not broken,_ he said inwardly to himself. _I am not broken. I am human._

Not that it mattered what they thought. The Selection may not continue from tonight.

"I have one final announcement to make," said Merrick.

Roy glanced at the teleprompter. It was blurry from the distance, but even he recognised it'd stopped rolling. Merrick was running purely on _ad lib_ right now. And it didn't bode well.

"Recent events have caused me to reconsider the Selection. I speak from the heart when I say situations like my son's abduction at the hands of rebels made me realise, as a father and husband, how much I love my family, and how far I would go to make sure they were safe from harm. The Selection has opened many doors for Roy, but it has also been a great source of distress these last few weeks."

 _He's speaking for me now._ The temptation to stand up and rebuke him was overwhelming like a claw grasping his heart. Roy clenched his palms and resisted for the sake of appearances.

Was this it? The agonising, slow pause coiled around Roy's lungs and drew breath from him.

"Though I love and cherish Roy, and I have come to see some of the Selected like they were daughters of my own, it is imperative to me that each lady realise how important her role will be from here on out. Whether that is a representative and ambassador of our great nation, or as the future queen. That she may be the target of attacks like these. We cannot abide by weakness. We must steel ourselves from threats and force.

"Therefore, I have made a decision: tomorrow evening, we will air a special version of the Report, in which each one of the Elite will undergo… the Convicting."

Gasps ripped from the crowd. Roy's jaw dropped open.

"Each young lady will personally sentence a traitor to our country to a punishment relative to their crime. It is an old practice, one frowned upon by even my most recent ancestors. However, with a few tweaks, this Convicting will have no rival. There will be no truer test of strength, courage, and loyalty to crown and country."

He paused once more. "To show further solidarity between the Elite and my son, however, I will implement one change never seen before.

"Prince Roy… will also undertake the Convicting himself."

* * *

 **A/N:** Every time I read that twist, I audibly say _oof, that's a doozie_ _,_ lol. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I considered posting this tomorrow to coincide with the royal wedding, but then I thought, nah, they'll steal Roy's limelight! :P My street's having a party, and I'm debating whether or not to show up to grab food... but then I have to... contribute food... like, rude, let me steal your stashes and run!

So, this is a rough turn of events! What do you think of Lilly and Young-Sook? Roy and his mental health? And did Merrick make the right call to hold the dreaded Convicting...?

Only one thing is certain: tensions will rise...

~ GWA

NTT: " _Help me_ was written all over her, like she'd never wanted to do this in the first place, and now she'd been given an innocent man to condemn."


	53. The Convicting

Even when the cameras stopped rolling, Roy struggled to arrange his face into something more natural. He was shocked, so shocked it pulsed down into his bones, clattered along his limbs, dragged back the nightmares that he'd wanted to push away. It drew horror like blood leaking from a fresh corpse.

He'd expected, at worst, the Selection's cancellation. Not the Convicting.

And definitely not a Convicting he would be participating in himself.

It was an old practice, abolished because the whole premise romanticised the Selected and humiliated the criminals in a crass and unprofessional manner. Granted, Roy had heard tales of unfair retribution, where mere thieves stealing to clothe their children would be sentenced to lifetime imprisonment. Surely Merrick would make adjustments, displacing the frivolity and injustice for serious warning.

He hoped. After all, a powerful man with his emotions unchecked was a dangerous man.

Roy stole a quick glance at the Selected girls. Sashi had no doubt taught them their history; they knew what the Convicting was and what it represented. Most of them were too stunned to do anything. Even Katrina's eyebrows had taken orbit on her forehead.

"He can't be serious," Ji-Yu muttered, so wan she looked sick. "A Convicting. With you in it. Tomorrow."

She marched down the tiers, and he politely gestured to the door, to talk elsewhere, before passing Roy a look that said, _you should come, too._

"A Convicting!" Mimi exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"

Hwan scratched his head amidst his quiet translation for Young-Sook. "That's… unexpected."

Too right. Roy dusted his trousers before following his parents out of the room and towards the Chateau Drawing Room, ironically the place where he and Young-Sook were having tea just before the Report. The herby smell lingered as they shut the door.

"A _Convicting?"_ Ji-Yu barked.

"I didn't tell you beforehand because I knew you'd both refuse," said Merrick nonchalantly, like he was talking about the weather. "But yes, I believe this is the best decision moving forwards."

"Stop with your Report voice, Merrick." Ji-Yu's gaze was hard. "The Convicting was stopped for good reason. It's a crude practice—"

"That's why I insisted on a few tweaks," said Merrick, looking at Roy. "No unjust punishments and we'll cut the fanfare. We hold it tomorrow with little preparation so it gives the spy little time to prepare mentally and physically for the role. And we only convict rebel prisoners."

Throwing the Selected Southern Rebels to condemn. Genius. Should any of them refuse, it was a tell-tale sign of their true affinity. Still, it weighed heavily on Roy's chest. Something felt so off about it all. So morally tilted.

Ji-Yu ran a hand through her hair. "That makes it all better, does it? One of them is a spy, yes, but one of them will also be Roy's wife, and what sort of message does that send about the type of rulers we are, and the type of rulers we want them to—?"

"Roy won't even get to marry if the spy harms him before that!"

"I'm right here," Roy cut across. "And I personally hate this idea. Why? And why are you making me do it?"

"Solidarity," Merrick repeated from his speech earlier. "It shows you see them as equals, not lesser. I thought you would appreciate the thought."

"No, I don't. I don't appreciate the idea at all. It's not too late. We can cancel this—"

"The announcement is made," Merrick said. "The Convicting will happen tomorrow, and you will be in it. Preparations have already begun."

In that moment, Merrick looked scarily like Diantha. Apathetically calm. Unsatisfied with the world and the people in it. Willing to do even the most heinous thing to achieve the better. Or what they thought was better.

Roy's shoulders fell. This wasn't his dad talking.

"Diantha gave you the idea, didn't she?"

"I didn't tell her about the spy, if that's what you're wondering," said Merrick. "Only that I was worried about loyalty of the Selected girls. She reminded me about the tradition. She wanted me to undertake it, after all, but her supposed death occurred before she could enforce it. She may be a terrible person, but she is still wise."

"You— you let her talk you into this?" mumbled Ji-Yu. "After everything we've been through together?"

His cheeks sucked in. "I won't tolerate disloyalty to the crown. I won't. I… just…" He sighed and sank into a chair. "I'm just so worried about you two. Gallivanting off to uncover spies and secrets, allowing the rebel traitor to walk amongst us. Mother gave me the idea, yes, but I've thought it through. I want you to be safe, and this is my way of vetting the girls. If they're genuine, they'll have no problem doing this."

"It will look suspicious if all the Convicted are rebels," Ji-Yu argued. "Did you think _that_ through?"

"The only message it will send is that the Schreaves do not condone insubordination, especially by bloodthirsty usurpers intent on our deaths."

It _was_ true that anybody unwilling to participate was more than likely to be the spy, and this was a true test to see how far the rebels were willing to go, what line they were willing to cross for information. It was a risk worth taking if it would unshroud the spy.

Or maybe it would alienate all the Elite. Disillusion them to him, to life as a princess or queen.

Roy crossed his arms as he let his parents bicker back and forth. Tea would be good now, and an ache for Young-Sook's soothing yet firm voice washed over him.

"What tweaks would you make?"

"You're not seriously considering doing this?" Ji-Yu exclaimed.

"I don't care about me. I'm already loyal to this country. It's the girls I'm worried about."

Merrick nodded eagerly. "Well, in old Convictings, the prince gifts each Elite a unique set of jewellery to wear, but I agree that it undermines the gravity of the tradition. Easily removable. Did you know, one of your ancestors actually _gave_ her Convicted her set of earrings to pay off—"

"What else?" Roy prompted.

"Type of crime. Only more serious crimes will deserve punishment in this form. Rebels who have killed or maimed in the name of their creed." His eyelids fluttered with sympathy. "It isn't the worst thing they must undergo. All they do is condemn a criminal on television. As queen, they must sometimes endure far worse."

Ji-Yu agreed by the reluctant look on her face. Roy shut his hands together.

"I… I guess… if I we do this, you won't cancel the Selection?"

"No," said Merrick.

A shard of him felt betrayed, for himself and the Selected girls, that he was agreeing to do this. He tramped down on it. "Will it be live?"

"Yes."

Ji-Yu scoffed. "And if things go wrong, then the whole damn world will see, I suppose?"

"It will prove that we are not here to dress up the process. The rebels can watch live and realise how solemnly we take this. No editing. Just hard truth." He fixed her with a rigid stare. "The worst that can happen is we expose a spy and deal with it appropriately."

"It's ridiculous I'm still entertaining this idea." Ji-Yu passed her glare to Roy. "You're sure you want to go through with this? You have to condemn someone now, too."

"I know, but… I agree with Dad. If it does expose the spy…" He bit his lip. "It'll be worth it."

Worth it to damage to his already tarnished reputation? Worth whatever love he had built between himself and his country over the last few months, between himself and his Selected?

Ji-Yu studied him. For a moment, he fell back into shrinking under her scrutiny, like she was finding every little thing wrong with him.

"Very well. Fine. But I don't agree with this whatsoever. And regardless of your intentions, Merrick, you should have consulted us before making any huge decisions."

"Like how you told me about the spy?"

Nobody could argue with that.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The next day was a whirlwind of activity to prepare the studio, the Elite, and Roy for the Convicting in what little time they did.

The tailors were hard at work, sewing suits and dresses, each one muted and serious with little embellishment. Producers ran laps to organise the staging, the lights, the thrones and scripts in the Great Room. Rudy had coached Roy all day on his mannerisms, what he would say and do, not to fidget with the crown they'd brought from the vaults for this special occasion, even though Roy's terrifying night of visions of Newton's Wife and Diantha had left him yearning for his bed as he yawned through his lines.

He'd hoped the tirade of activity would keep his mind busy, off the worsening delusions, but of course his luck wasn't so. Sometimes, when he peeked up from his lines, he'd see Newton's Wife sauntering between the runners, twirling that gun, or Diantha cackling at the make-up artists and striking her cane against the floorboards.

The Elite girls had made themselves scarce. He hadn't seen them since the Report, hadn't had the time to see them. The Convicting was going to test their will to their bones. Would they be worthy?

The ceremony itself was superficial; just saying a bunch of fancy words to a criminal. It was the message that carried the weight: _I am a daughter of Illéa, and I will do whatever it takes for this country._

When mere minutes lapsed until they were live on air, Roy took his seat in his throne next to his father. Rarely did they use them, uncomfortable as they were. But today, Merrick had brought them out especially. Power and prosperity was exactly what he was hoping to portray. Even with the red-cushioned back and seat, the ivory jutted into Roy's back, and he shifted multiple times to get comfy.

"You ready, son?" Merrick said besides him, his throne grander and more glistening, ornately carved with angels, lions, and the Illéan royal family insignia. A red cloak with mink trim fell from his shoulders, his ornate crown upon his head. "I know you'll be okay."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

Merrick swallowed and turned back to face forwards. "It's for the best." But even his eyes flashed with some buried guilt that had surfaced over the past twenty-four hours.

The fanfare played when the lights blared on. Roy settled with a neutral aura, non-smiling and hands clasped firmly on his closed lap. The court and invited magistrates had gathered on seats around the velvet red carpet, with the steps leading up to Merrick. Seven chairs to the right were empty for the Elite.

Romilda graced into the picture in a cream dress, scalloped at the back and a white lace trim. Even though she was dazzling, it was muted enough to show the world that this was no time for theatrics.

"Good evening Illéa, and welcome to this special edition of the Capital Report. Today, you will witness our first Convicting since the rule of King Clarkson Schreave, a hundred and seventy-three years ago. The Convicting is an ancient tradition undergone by the Elite, in which they each sentence a traitor in a display of true compassion for the laws and judicial system of Illéa." She gestured to Roy. "However, today there will be one crucial difference: Prince Roy himself will undergo the Convicting, as a show of companionship with his Elite and as a testament to his love for our great nation. This event comes to you live from the palace. To our studio audience, please refrain from clapping until the end, and no flash photography is allowed."

She moved like a swan on a lake. "Please enjoy the proceedings. We will begin in alphabetical order."

Cameras thrummed with clicking as the Elite girls marched in synchronised motion down the carpet. Luna headed the ensemble, her dress the essence of true simplicity: long sleeves and legs covered, with simple pearls adorning her ears and neck. Ji-Yu had implemented a firmer dress code for them: the white and gold tradition would stay, but nothing too flashy, and only pearls for jewellery. They were to match like soldiers in war.

Luna stared at Roy hard as she approached. He thought back to Gemima and Rudy's discoveries, that she'd become more closed off in recent weeks, that she had asked around about leaving the palace. Maybe this was difficult for her – to condemn people of her own kind.

At Merrick, she curtsied, low and respectful, before placing the olive branch by his feet. The other girls followed suit: same modest outfits, same obedient bowing, same submissive aura. Even though Elise nearly fell over her own feet, they all managed to pass the first stage without setback and took seats in the chairs.

Merrick stood and pronounced to the crowd, "People of Illéa, today the final seven ladies of the Selection come to present themselves to the law. As one of them may be princess and queen in future, each Elite must show today that she is willing to uphold the peace for the benefit of our great nation, and that she is a ready servant of our rule."

Even the speech seemed wrong, and it tingled every one of Roy's nerves.

Merrick said, "We will now begin the proceedings," and sat back down, glancing at Roy as he did. Roy had nothing on his face to give him.

"If our first Elite lady will stand, please," said Romilda.

Luna rose from the chair and returned to the foot of the king.

"Who are you?" Merrick asked.

"I am Luna Catalina Bellini-Torres, daughter of Illéa."

Merrick tilted his head in acknowledgement, and the guards dragged the first rebel up the aisle.

"We call into the presence of His Royal Majesty, King Merrick, Her Majesty, Queen Ji-Yu, and His Royal Highness, Prince Roy," Romilda parsed, "the criminal Jordan Iscariot."

Roy couldn't suppress his gasp. The very rebel who had sabotaged the Midknight Dinner to allow him the displeasure of meeting Walter Wolanski for the first time. A shiver crawled up his body as he recognised every feature; the pallid, valleyed skin, the shaggy mop of hair, the beard that had grown wild since incarceration.

He'd already been convicted. This was merely a power move. A clever one at that.

The guards forced Jordan to his knees as Luna tipped up her head. If she recognised him, she didn't show it.

"Jordan Iscariot," she began, her voice as steely as a sword. "What is your crime?"

Jordan was gagged at the mouth, so one of the guards spoke for him. They mustn't have offered him a good enough incentive to keep his mouth shut about the rebels on live television. If he knew that Roy knew about the second spy, he mightn't have been so passive now.

"Treason, my lady," said the guard. "Against His Royal Majesty, King Merrick, and His Royal Highness, Prince Roy, via sabotage."

A sick smile tugged Iscariot's cracked lips, and his manic laugh was muffled by the gag. The guards jostled him at his impropriety, but Iscariot wasn't fazed. He never had been by guard threats, if Roy remembered correctly.

"How long is your sentence?" Luna continued.

"Life, my lady," said the guard.

Luna glided forwards and placed a hand on Iscariot's shoulder. That couldn't have been nice. "Go, faithful subject, and pay your debt to the king."

Cameras clicked wildly. Jordan still laughed as the guards yanked him back down the aisle. He was remarkably less eccentric than before, but perhaps life in prison had tempered him.

Luna took her seat again, and this time, Elise stood. Nearly stumbled. She nervously shuffled to her place in front of Merrick.

"Who are you?"

"I-I am Elise Belmont, daughter of Illéa."

She forced out the words, but didn't remain silent entirely. Her criminal was one Roy didn't recognise, but his heart still seized when he learned he had played a part in the _coup_ against Honduragua's council offices. Instigated them himself, actually. The guards dragged him away, and Elise robotically walked back to her seat, breathing hard. She refused to look Roy in the eye, even when he begged her to do so.

"Who are you?"

Roy slammed back to the present as Lilly rose from her curtsy, signing slowly and deliberately. Eulalia was by her side, having materialised somewhere from the audience, and he noticed she'd dressed up to match Lilly – lace and minimal frills on their long cream dresses.

Ire pinched between his nervousness. Was Eulalia still set on thinking Lilly's dreams unrealistic? Had Lilly shared their conversation at all with her?

If she did, it was clearly the furthest thing from Eulalia's mind as she translated, " _I am Lilly Carter, daughter of Illéa."_

The Convicting slowed to allow time to translate. This woman was a Calgarian spy who had successfully infiltrated the council to glean information about the rebels. Anamarie Bellini-Torres had failed to mention her at all during the dinner, too busy preening and priding herself on her rebel-free province. Perhaps this was a result of her ruthlessness.

Lilly signed before touching the Convicted's shoulder, and Eulalia pronounced the damnation in her stead. Now, Camilla stepped forth in front of Merrick.

"I am Camilla Vianne Daugherty, daughter of Illéa."

He didn't miss the look she gave him. One that said, _this feels wrong._ He only flashed her a sympathetic frown in return, hoping she understood that he was in the same position.

Though it didn't look it from his golden throne with his golden crown.

Camilla sentenced a rebel burglar to life for ransacking several prominent politician's houses in Sonage. It stunned Roy how much he didn't know. Honduragua's current unrest was headline news, and Anamarie had likely covered up the Calgarian spy, but Sonage was the province next door.

Was it only a matter of time? Would the rebels pounce at the first sign of a crumbling monarchy? Even Ji-Yu had to admit that one misstep was all it would take to bring a _coup_ to their home.

"Who are you?"

Silence for moments that dragged on. Roy whipped to face the newest Elite, Regina, standing before Merrick. Blinking rapidly, she balled her palms in front of her long dress, practically beseeching him about her deference.

"Lucemare Regina Landowski." She hesitated. "Daughter of Illéa."

Deviation from the script. Ice sluiced down Roy's back as he watched her features become more ashen. Merrick narrowed his eyes slightly, but gestured for the guards to bring forth the next Convicted.

"We call into the presence of His Royal Majesty, King Merrick, Her Majesty, Queen Ji-Yu, and His Royal Highness, Prince Roy, the criminal Oscar Billinghurst."

Oscar fell over on his way up the carpet, and it drove an unwanted spear of sympathy through Roy's heart. As he knelt in front of Regina, tears leaked from his eyes.

Roy couldn't see Regina's face, but he could still hear the tremor in her voice. "Oscar B-Billinghurst, what is your crime?"

"Treason, my lady." Unlike Iscariot, Oscar's mouth wasn't bound, and it was all the worse to hear his quaking timbre. "I allowed rebels to use my home in Clermont as a rendezvous point."

The next step should've been easy. Hand on shoulder. Words from script. But Regina deviated once more, leaning towards him and whispering, barely audible in the murmurs of the room, "Are you a Southern Rebel?"

"N-No, my lady. I would never help those selfish cowards willingly."

Oh no. Roy swerved to face Merrick, but even he seemed alarmed at the words, not sure what to do.

Regina drew in a long breath, then spun to look at Roy. _Help me_ was written all over her, like she'd never wanted to do this in the first place, and now she'd been given an innocent man to condemn. Roy rolled his hands in a gesture he hoped said, _just do it, please._

Her eyes trailed his hands. But then she shook her head.

"I-I can't do this."

The audience gasped so loud it echoed around the Great Room.

"I can't do this," she said again, then raised her voice. "I won't do this. This sick and barbaric practice you tell us shows our obedience to country and crown is nothing more than a show! A twisted power play to ward off the Southern Rebels! I didn't agree to become some pawn to use against an uprising; I agreed to the Selection to try for Prince Roy's hand!"

Being gutted might have felt less painful as this. Roy couldn't move from the shock.

Red-faced, Merrick shot up from his throne. "The Selection is not just for my son to find a suitable wife. It is also for him to find a suitable queen. This is the duty of all who become monarchs."

"This man is innocent! He didn't want those rebels to use his home!"

"You could not have possibly gleaned that from asking one question." Roy hated that it was sound logic. "You will convict the criminal, Lady Landowski, or you show Illéa where your true allegiance lies."

Too late. She crossed her arms and flared her nostrils, unintimidated by Merrick's threats.

"I will not."

Merrick fixed his gaze on Roy. "Then you know what to do."

Heart clamouring, Roy stood shakily. He watched each of the seated Elite girls, mouths clasped with painted hands.

"Regina Landowski," Roy said, pushing the stutter away. "You are hereby dismissed from my Selection."

"This is ridiculous!" Regina yelled. Guards prowled forwards to take her at Merrick's nod. "Roy, I can't believe you'd brandish us like figureheads! You can't expect me to condemn an innocent man and feel good about it. You're so much better than that, and I know it!"

She was still screaming as she was dragged from the room.

Roy's throat was so dry he had to flicker to Rudy to bring him water. Cameras zoomed in to his face, and it was effort to keep it cool and unassuming, even though he was churning on the inside.

Merrick sat back down. "Continue."

Had his plan worked? Was Regina the spy that refused to convict her own?

"Who are you?" Merrick spoke like nothing had changed.

"I-I am Ambrosia Anastasia-Alexia Nichols, d-daughter of Illéa." She had the unfortunate job of condemning both Oscar and her intended criminal, another riot instigator from Bonita. Tears wrestled free from her eyes, watering her thick mascara. She was more shaken from Regina's discord than a city from an earthquake.

Ambrosia sped through the process and sat back down, barely giving Maeve time to register that she was next. She awkwardly waddled to Merrick, curtsying as she did.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She stood ramrod-straight, chest puffed. "I am Maeve Tatianna Reynolds, daughter of Illéa." It was an odd change from the others, meek and somewhat placid about the Convicting. Maeve held herself like she was the judge in the harsh calamity of court.

"We call into the presence of His Royal Majesty, King Merrick, Her Majesty, Queen Ji-Yu, and His Royal Highness, Prince Roy, the criminal Estelle Portside."

Estelle was a weedy woman in stature, severely gaunt, but that didn't stop her from holding her head high and gracing down the red carpet with the last shreds of her dignity. Even with the gag, she knelt without fanfare and stared Maeve right in the face.

Maeve did not falter. "Estelle Portside, what is your crime?"

"Treason, my lady," said the guard. "She drugged an official to steal important documents."

Estelle's eyes bore into Roy, and his heart stopped. He recognised her. Pieces clicked about her gait, her sharpness, the lethality of her gaze. She was Satan the maid, the one who had spiked his wine and used him to steal important financial documents from Merrick's office at the Bonfire Ball.

He hissed to Merrick, "When did you find her?"

"Two days ago. I was coming to tell you about it during your— your meeting."

Estelle grinned at him with unhinged glee. She was enjoying his squirming and squealing.

"How long is your sentence?" asked Maeve.

"Life, my lady," said the guard.

The most deserving punishment. A savage part of him wanted to see her whipped for what she'd done to him, but this would more than suffice. He quickly trampled the instinct and the darkness that awoke with it.

Maeve placed a hand on her shoulder. "Go, faithful subject, and pay your debt to the king."

As she was dragged away, her tongue lashed out, and the gag fell down her face. She'd waited for this moment. "The bird will twice descend to feast on your soul, Prince Roy—!" The guards clamped her mouth shut and wrestled against her, but she was cackling. Mad. A flash of the night returned to him, looming over his shoulder like the encroaching gilded clutches of the throne.

Maeve had question in her eyes when she returned to her seat, tilting her head at Roy. He only rolled his lips. _Later,_ he said to her inwardly. She seemed to understand.

"Congratulations to the sev—ahem, _six_ Elite girls, who have completed the Convicting." Romilda smiled smoothly over the blunder. "Now we have one last trial. If His Royal Highness will step forwards?"

All eyes leered into him. Roy collected his crumbling resolve and moved to stand in front of Merrick. He had no olive branch to place, so merely bowed, keeping his head facing forwards so his crown didn't slip off.

"Who are you?" said Merrick. It sounded cold and cruel, but the guilty twist of his lips reminded Roy of his humanity.

"I am His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave, son of Illéa."

He turned around. The doors opened.

"We call into the presence of His Royal Majesty, King Merrick, and Her Majesty, Queen Ji-Yu—" Romilda startled. "The criminal, Avianna DeLaurence."

It tore through him as Avianna was led along the carpet. Unlike her predecessors, she wasn't dragged or shoved along. Her hands were still in manacles, but she had been cleaned up and dressed for the occasion, tauntingly like her once-fellow Elite in cream and gold. Her shoulders raised as she knelt before Roy, but she was angry – fire blazed in her eyes as fiercely as the sun bled light in the sky at day.

He fleetingly glanced at his parents. Ji-Yu's mouth was openly agape. Merrick was still as windless night, watching Roy with obsidian eyes. He had deliberately chosen Avianna for him, and it was another claw around Roy's heart.

He returned Avianna's glare with something submissive. "A-Avianna DeLaurence, what is your crime?"

"Treason, sir," she said. It sounded recited. "I broke an important law of the Selection."

To anyone, it would've sounded like she had an affair, and she could've blurted Diantha's truth to the world right then and there to defend her honour and integrity. But she didn't. Complete silence. Perhaps more was on the line. Perhaps Penelope's future resided on her obedience here.

"How long is your sentence?" The words tasted like ash.

This time, Avianna hesitated, and that fire in her eyes watered to tears. "L-Lifetime imprisonment, sir."

The press gobbled up the words in their hushed din. Cameras clicked furiously. Pens scribbled. Roy shut his eyes for a moment to scare off the nightmares of her screaming for respite. _Set me free,_ her dream-self had begged.

Avianna would never be free. And he was the one to condemn her.

Roy could take a stand. Refuse to convict her, like Regina had. But what would that say for the fractured state of the monarchy? They might as well invite the rebels to conquer them. He had to show strength, even in moments of his great weakness.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder and saying loudly, for everyone to hear, "Go, faithful subject, and pay your debt to the king."

She stood slowly. Shut her eyes. Tears splattered down her cheeks.

"You were my everything, Roy," she muttered. "Now you are nothing to me."

Then she was taken away, never to be seen again.

Air whirled from his lungs like a punch to his chest, but he moved as gracefully as he could back to the throne. The press consumed his hurt as not even he could hide the pain across his features.

Luckily, Romilda twirled back into the spotlight. "This has been the Convicting. Follow-up coverage will air shortly after this programme has finished, so please stay tuned. Thank you for watching, Illéa. Goodnight."

The royal family were escorted through a side door as the Elite went back through the main doors to applause and cheers. When free, Roy spun on his father, fists balled.

"What the hell was that? You set me up with Avianna deliberately!"

Merrick sighed and began to remove his regalia. The cloak swamped to the floor as he undid the fastenings. "She had to be punished. I thought it fitting it was by your hand."

"It was a cruel trick! I can't believe you made me do that!"

"Roy," Ji-Yu snapped, holding out her hands between them. "It was a smart idea. Callous, but smart."

"How can you say that?"

She straightened and faced Merrick. "Lady Landowski was right about this evening sending a message to the rebels. But, choosing to condemn Avianna amongst them…"

"It was a message to the Elite. To the spy," Merrick finished. "That if we find her, she will be treated and punished just like the rest of them. We do not tolerate subterfuge of any kind."

It was a sound explanation. But in his heart it was more like a cacophony. "Yeah, and it doubled as a punishment against _me_ for discovering the truth about Diantha. So thanks. Number one _Dad of the Year_ right there."

Merrick didn't rise to the sarcasm. "We are not above punishment, Roy. You committed treason, same as her. You could've been sentenced for life like Avianna for what you did. This was mercy."

" _Mercy?"_ Roy spat. "I felt like shit up there, just like the Selected, and you're the one that put us through it, but I guess I should be grateful!"

"Roy—"

"Don't bother. I'm going to see my Elite."

He made for the Illéan Wing drawing room without waiting for a response. The fury that eddied along his skin quickly hampered when he realised the Elite had it far worse. Ambrosia had been crying, it was that bad. They'd suffered for his mistakes.

He poked his head through the door to the Illéa Drawing Room. The girls looked defeated and beaten, crowded together on the sofas and armchairs, and muttering between themselves.

Standing above them was Mimi, cheery and piping with encouragement even if the girls didn't seem to be taking any of it in.

"—beautiful crowns! My sister's will be one of yours, one day! How amazing is that?" She grinned at Roy as he entered, and it infuriated him. "Perfect timing! I was just congratulating the girls on what a wonderful job they did!"

"Avianna had an affair?" Elise blurted out.

All the girls searched him for answers. He swallowed.

"Something like that."

"How scandalous!" Mimi waggled her fingers. "There's a lesson there. Don't have affairs. It's morally wrong. If Lady Alisa and Prince Barnabas didn't give you an idea. I mean, she got another prince out of that, but—"

"Was her lover punished?" Katrina ignored Mimi, and Roy hadn't even noticed she was there amongst them. Blending in with the Elite in the same gold and cream gown. She didn't get all the benefits of being an Elite, but at least she didn't get the punishments, either. "It seems unfair that she gets singled out when there's not a word about the other person."

"He was dealt with. That's all you need to know," said Roy, disappointed and how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. "Aunt Mimi, Katrina, could you… leave me with the girls for a moment?"

Mimi flashed with intrigue, but she nodded and tiptoed from the room. Katrina seemed more reluctant to leave, but she narrowed her eyes at Roy as she shut the door behind her.

Silence. No one knew what to say. He sat down in a free chair and leant forwards, hands clasped together.

"I'm sorry. I know it's pretty worthless now, but I'm furious, and I won't be surprised if you all are, too."

Camilla said, "Not furious. Just… upset."

That was worse. He let the mood sink in further and further until it vibrated through his bones. "Are you all… okay?"

There was hesitation, but they all nodded.

"We all knew Regina was going to fight," Luna muttered.

His head whipped up to look at her. Not an ounce of a lie on her face.

"She told us to take a stand against it. She said it would be awful." Her mouth was a cold, thin line. "She was right."

"It wasn't my decision to hold a Convicting," he said. Useless excuses now. "My father… recent events have made him less trusting, especially since I was… you know. He's mourning my grandmother as well. It doesn't mix."

"Is it true?" said Camilla, voice hard. "The Convicting was just a show of power against the Southern Rebels?"

"It's not the only reason, but… yes."

"What other reasons?"

"My father is afraid. He regrets so much that he couldn't protect me. This was for him a way to show you all that he will go above and beyond for the people he cares about."

It was supposed to be a lie, yet it tasted like the truth.

"That… was his way of showing he cares?" squeaked Ambrosia. Tears were drying on her cheeks.

"It's hard to explain. To be honest, I don't even understand it, and I'm really sorry you all had to be part of it."

"I guess it's a reminder about how serious the Southern Rebel threat is," said Eulalia, simultaneously signing for Lilly. "What the role as princess or queen might be like."

"Yes, you're right," agreed Roy. "It won't be easy. Rebels, subterfuge, riots… spies… Sometimes, we have to make hard choices in the name of our country, because in the eyes of the people, you are the country, and the country is you. If that's not what you're here for, I won't be surprised if any of you want to quit now."

The girls exchanged glances. Maeve just chuckled.

"I mean, I won't lie. That _was_ pretty difficult, emotionally, to do. But… hard choices, right?" She came over to him and patted him on the back. "And it would suck to see you go through it alone. You're not a bad guy, Your Highness."

Avianna seemed to think so, but Maeve's words compelled him to smile.

"It was taxing, wasn't it?" he said, trying to lighten the tension. "I'm the first prince to ever do it, and I think I'll be the last."

"I'd also like to suggest we make that the last time the Selected ever do it, too," Luna said, to a round of agreement from everyone.

"Yeah. None of that when I'm king. You can keep me in check."

Eulalia gulped. Unprompted by Lilly, she said, "What… what will happen to Regina?"

They quietened for Roy's response. But he only shrugged. "I don't know. I've eliminated her, so I suppose she'll pack her bags and go home. Probably do some interviews on her way out, with the press all gathered here." If she was the spy, they'd know by tomorrow hopefully. He watched for any reaction. "Why didn't any of you join her? In rebelling?"

Nobody responded, but he could read the room. No one wanted to disobey. No one wanted to leave. For him or otherwise, the thought was strangely comforting.

"Well, thank you for doing it. It's just us six now." _Six!_ An unfathomable change from thirty-five. "I hope it'll make our Selection a little more intimate. I'd like to get to know you all better before making any further decisions." _Or further eliminations._ His Selected were leaving the rate that flies died in these recent days.

Things were getting hazier. The choice about who to dismiss next, more difficult. That was the nature of the Selection, and even though he knew it was coming, he felt all the more unprepared for it.

A quiet knock drew his thoughts back.

"Are you done?" Katrina yelled.

"Come in!" called Roy.

Katrina flounced back inside, obviously hurt she wasn't privy to the discussion. Mimi sashayed in behind her, hands clapped by her sides.

"Oh, you're all bonding! It's so cute! You know what this calls for?" She punched the air. "A date! After that, ahem, harrowing experience, it'll be just what we need to boost morale and refresh the romance!"

Whatever small happiness he'd accumulated drained from him like pus leaking from a wound. "Aunt Mimi, now's not the time—"

"Oh no, not _now,_ Roy. I got your last message." She winked. "Who wants to go on a date with Roy tomorrow? Don't be shy now!"

He blinked wordlessly as the girls shifted, restless. Really, he only had to pick between Ambrosia and Maeve, since they were the last two he hadn't been on a date with, official or not. But to organise it now, when they were recovering from an ordeal like the Convicting?

 _Maybe this is exactly what I need,_ he told himself. _Something to look forward to tomorrow._ He scanned for hopefuls, but Ambrosia had shied away. Maeve was staring him straight in the eye, chest puffed.

"Okay. I'll go on a date with you, Your Highness, if you want?"

"Yes," he said too quickly. "That would be lovely."

"It's settled!" Mimi cheered. "Don't worry. Intimate and all that. I'll organise it all." She probably had an ear pressed to the door. "I know just the thing!"

She sprinted off before anyone could object.

"Your aunt is weird," snorted Katrina. "But I guess it runs in the family."

"I'm not weird," he said. "Back me up. Anyone?"

The girls just grinned between themselves. Smarmy. He stuck out his tongue at all of them.

"I have my deck of cards," said Katrina again. "Anyone for Snap? Except Maeve, because she cheats."

"I didn't cheat!" Maeve protested.

"I'll play!" chimed Elise.

Lilly signed, and Eulalia said, " _I can referee_. _I have a good eye."_

"Better than Camilla," said Katrina with her teasing snooty air. "Biased towards Maeve—"

"I caught you cheating," said Camilla, deadpan.

"You did cheat," agreed Ambrosia. "I saw you stealing cards from Maeve's deck—"

"She obviously stole from me, so it was fair retribution!"

"You got caught, girl," Luna said, quirking her lips. "Admit you're bad at Snap."

Roy laughed along as the girls bickered, as the game started, as Katrina's hands slammed into the petite coffee table over Elise's attempts and she demanded a rematch even as she won cards. He stood up to go quietly, not to disturb their fun, and made it to the door before a hand landed on his arm.

Camilla. She took a few breaths before saying anything.

"I just… I just wanted to check if you were okay. You came down here to ask us, but… you went through it, too…"

He smiled, warmed by her concern. "I'm fine. Have to make some statements for the press, though, as you will all after me."

"You won't stay for a game?"

"I can't." He held her hand for a moment. "Thank you, though. I appreciate it."

This was his own version of solidarity with the girls.

* * *

 **A/N:** This was one of my absolute favourite chapters to write. I just loved creating the pomp, the drama, the emotions, and then the somewhat happy, content ending. Hope you enjoyed it too!

Fun fact: Roy wasn't initially going to join in! In the first 'idea', it was just a regular Convicting. Then I remembered I still had Avianna locked up, and I wondered, how can I bring closure for her character? And also how can I make this Convicting different than America's in The One? When it hit me I could Convict Avianna _and_ make Roy do it, I started laughing uncontrollably at my keyboard. I'm sorry I'm evil. I even had to reread scenes in The One for the Convicting etiquette, lol.

Big thanks to **TheFoodieMonster** for Avianna and **valentina's sorrows** for Regina! Both feisty, spunky, and unforgettable. Avianna and Regina have been an absolute pleasure to write! Avianna, unfortunately, let her curiosity rule her, and I knew it would be her downfall, and I didn't think Regina would stand for the Convicting further than she could throw a man. They will be missed.

As always, favourites, follows and reviews are immensely appreciated. I can't wait to read your reactions to this one, lolol.

Six ladies. One spy. Time is running out...

~ GWA

NTT: "You've got a dirty mind for a hoity-toity prince!"


	54. The Way to a Maeve's Heart

After another rush of interviews on Sunday morning, and the news that the spy was still amongst his Elite, the rest of the day had been ordered for rest. Which was good for Roy, because once again, his sleepless nights were starting to catch up to him.

He trudged to the infirmary in jeans and a casual shirt, rubbing at his face as if he could rub out the bags beneath his eyes. Young-Sook had told Dr Nagi about his troubles and she had indeed called someone in to better attend to him, and the anticipation of the meeting welled the jitters within him like a jammed fountain.

Because it was Sunday, the infirmary was mostly vacant besides the odd guard injured in training. He crossed to Dr Nagi's office, where she ushered him inside with a smile and a plate of chocolate biscuits.

"Excellent to see you, Your Highness. Please sit."

Already occupying one of the chairs was a man, so tall and thin he looked like stretched taffy. Face sharp, he crooked a quaint smile towards Roy and eased his hands on a worn leather briefcase.

"Your Highness, it's a pleasure to meet you." He bowed his head before offering a hand.

"This is Dr Branimir Jugovach, a psychiatrist," said Dr Nagi. "He's going to perform a quick assessment of your health."

Roy clasped onto his arm. "Cool." The handshake was so flimsy Jugovach could've been made of paper.

The two of them moved to another room, the heavy curtains allowing a fraction of the morning light, with vases of jasmine and lavender heady enough to make him sleepy. A creamy chaise lounge in the centre of the room was smooth and shiny, just like the ones in movies, where the struggling high school student would spill all the drama to a school councillor. Around it was a velvety collections of seats, but Roy chose to sit on the edge of an armchair instead.

Jugovach sat on a regular chair opposite. His glasses were ginormous, almost consuming his entire reedy face and bulging the thin slits that were his blue eyes. Still, his smile was warm enough as he regarded Roy, his hands still with attention on the clipboard on his lap.

"So, I suppose this is rather awkward. We've never met and now you're expected to tell me all about yourself. So, why don't we start with the basics?"

Roy couldn't resist snorting. "I doubt you haven't done your research about me, Dr."

"One only need turn on the television for a glimpse into your life, Your Highness. May I call you Roy?" At the nod, Jugovach continued. "I was thinking, perhaps, starting with some simple questions. I will answer them, too, if that will help you feel better."

"Okay." He couldn't even compel himself to answer enthusiastically. This whole situation made him shudder from tip to toe.

"What's your favourite colour?" The question startled him so much he double-took. Jugovach's smile grew wider. "Surprised?"

"I mean… when you said the basics, I didn't think you meant _that_ basic."

"Yes, I do intend to go _basic._ So, what is your favourite colour?"

Roy sat back. "I… don't know. I guess I don't have a favourite colour. But I don't like yellow very much."

"You don't like yellow? Why is that?"

He shrugged. "It's just so jarring. Intrusive." He smirked despite himself. "My valet would say it doesn't go with anything, so I guess he's partly the reason I don't own any yellow pieces of clothing. What's yours?"

"My least favourite colour is red. I find it reminds me too much of blood."

It was a strange moment of kinship. Jugovach said this like he had seen his fair share of it in his lifetime. Roy had seen enough of it over the past few weeks.

"What's your favourite?"

"Green. Bright green," said Jugovach thoughtfully. "No particular reason why. I just find it pleasing to look at. You don't always need a reason to like or dislike something."

"Nothing psychological, then? Like the fields around your happy childhood home were the most pleasant shade of emerald?"

"Nothing like that. It's quite the same with people, you know. You don't have to have a reason for liking someone. Sometimes, you just do."

Roy tucked the information away to keep in mind for the Selection. They talked for another twenty minutes, going over some of Roy's likes and dislikes: he liked cheesecake and apple pie, hated asparagus, loved mornings over evenings even if he was never awake for them, preferred horses over cats and dogs. Jugovach refrained from inputting unless Roy directly asked him, something he supposed had to do with his training as a psychiatrist.

"I want to talk about your experiences now, Roy, if you're all right with it," Jugovach said at a natural break in the conversation. "Tell me as much as you feel comfortable with. Talking it out, you might find, is an effective medicine in its own right."

Roy was on edge again. His pulse soared, even as he levelled his breathing to make it drop. He opened his mouth several times, closed it again and again. The words were lodged in his throat, refusing to leave. No matter how long he talked about colours and food with Jugovach, and no matter how much Young-Sook trusted this process, his body shivered at the thought of opening up. Of rambling about his most inner troubles.

"I… have nightmares," he said eventually, even as that was a struggle to say. "Not every night. Sometimes I dream about other things. But sometimes I'm not so lucky, and it feels like… feels like the shadows are coming for me."

Gun to forehead. Blood dripping down his face.

He inhaled sharply and wrung his hands together. The darkness had taken on Diantha's form since the discovery that she was alive. With Avianna, begging for mercy and freedom. After seeing her at the Convicting yesterday…

"It's okay," said Jugovach.

"No it's not," Roy snapped, sudden and emotional, bursting from some deep crevice in his heart. "It's not okay. I'm not okay. This has plagued me for weeks and it's not getting any better. I can't… I can't have this on my shoulders. So fix me. Please."

Jugovach regarded him with a neutral expression. If anything, Roy was thankful he wasn't being pitied like some street pauper begging for food scraps.

"It will be okay," Jugovach amended, "if you give yourself time to heal. This has happened since your kidnapping?"

Roy lashed his temper. "Yes."

"How frequently do you experience nightmares?"

"Every couple of nights."

"Have you ever experienced them during the day?"

He hesitated. "Sometimes I close my eyes and it happens, and sometimes I don't even have to close my eyes."

"What do you see?"

Hands clammy, Roy drew his arms into himself. "Things."

Jugovach didn't press for details, another thing Roy was grateful for. The psychiatrist noted down on a clipboard, and agonising seconds ticked past as he said nothing, leaving Roy to stare and ponder and worry about his next words. After some moments, Jugovach looked up from his paper, not frowning, but not smiling either.

"Yes, it does seem like you have developed post-traumatic stress disorder following the event." So Young-Sook was right. It was a stone to Roy's gut. "But it isn't severe, and for that, we should be glad."

"Why… why do I have it? People go through traumatic experiences all the time."

"Our brains work differently from one another, Roy. During traumatic events, sometimes the brain maps the memory to the correct memory storage, and sometimes, it places it somewhere that makes it think it needs immediate attention."

 _Stupid brain,_ Roy admonished, only to then scold the thought itself. He couldn't help it. His own mind was just doing what it thought was protecting him.

"And how do I… put the memory in the right place?"

"We talk it out, in sessions like these. When you're more comfortable, you can share the content of your nightmares and what triggers them. It will help direct our focus immensely."

Another shudder rippled down Roy's spine. This man was still a stranger, no matter how much he wanted to help. If he couldn't share with his family and friends, could barely talk to Young-Sook about it, how could he confess all to Jugovach?

Maybe being a stranger was better. He felt no attachment to the man, no need to hide. But as his heart shrivelled at the thought, perhaps not even their weak acquaintanceship could lead him out the storm. Disappointment biting his chest, Roy banished the thoughts as Jugovach continued.

"I'll also suggest something we call watchful waiting. Because your symptoms are mild, sometimes the brain will sort itself out in a few days to a few weeks. We just watch and see what happens." Jugovach placed down his pen. "That concludes our session today, Roy."

It'd hardly been half an hour. "Is… that it, then? We just… talk?"

"We just talk. Dr Nagi and I will keep an eye on you. Should you have your nightmares or delusions again, please come and see one of us, even during the night." Jugovach tilted his head slightly. "Do you think this has helped?"

Heart rate steady. Breathing even. His nerves fluttered at the thought of opening up, of allowing himself to be vulnerable and heard, but it was something he'd have to deal with another time. At least, even talking in abstract seemed to have cooled him down. He stole a hesitant look around the room, relieved to see neither Newton's Wife nor Diantha skulking into existence.

"Maybe. I… don't know," he said eventually.

Jugovach nodded. "That's perfectly normal. We'll wait and see."

Young-Sook was waiting for Roy outside the infirmary. She rose slowly from the chair and flitted a hand towards the guard escorts, including Roy's, to leave them in peace. " _How are you? How was the session?"_

" _It was okay."_

" _Did it help you?"_ She offered her arm. " _Was the man nice?"_

" _He was… nice. As for help, I suppose… only time will tell."_

She beamed at him. " _That's good. I will keep this quiet, if you want me to."_

" _You haven't told Mother or Father?"_

" _Of course not. It's none of their damn business. None of mine, either, really, but…"_ She smoothed out his hand. " _I'm the proudest grandmother, Jun, I am. You have a whole country's cares on your shoulders, but today you took care of yourself. I really believe you will make a fine king one day."_

He warmed from heart to cheek.

" _Now, come. I hope to convert you to tea before your date this afternoon."_

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy was not converted to tea, but Maeve didn't particularly like the beverage either, so it didn't matter so much.

Mimi had taken _intimate_ to a whole new level. She had set-up an indoor picnic in his parlour room, with the sofas and chairs circled back to enclose the space. Cushions were strewn across a plaid blanket, between plates and glasses and piping hot food, and steam curled off the various dishes. Mimi had clearly been listening to Maeve's father as the food on offer consisted of spicy rice, jambalaya, garlic oysters, praline, and crocodile gumbo.

Maeve smelt it all before she even stepped into the hallway, arm woven between Roy's. She let him go and sprinted as fast as her low heels could take her, nearly ripping her simple black one piece in her excitement.

"Oh my god!" she squealed. "Is this— is this all for me?"

"I mean, I'm going to eat some, too, but yes."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She plucked Roy from the ground and swung him. "I love Louisianan food!"

"Ah!" He choked under her grip. "Maeve! Put me down!"

Gently she returned him to earth and then practically lunged onto the cushions to start, Roy crossing his legs opposite. Rich seafood smells wafted into his nose, and it was a wonder Maeve had any patience to wait for him to take a plate at all.

"Ladies first. Have as much as you want."

Maeve didn't need to be told twice. She ladled her plate with just about everything until it was a wild mess of sauces and soups. Without pretence, she shoved a helping into her mouth and moaned.

"Ohmmmgod," she mumbled. "Sooogud."

Roy peeled an oyster free and slid it down his throat. Cooked, it tasted only of garlic and herbs. "You make it look like we never feed you at the palace."

"You do, just not with the best food in the history of food—" She gasped. "Is that apple and elderflower juice?"

The little green bottle had been popped already for pouring. Roy offered her a drink, and instead she took the whole bottle.

"Slow down. You're worse than me at a party—"

"Never tasted anything so good! We get the home-brand Walmart stuff, but oh my god, this is be nectar from the gods!" She had to push the half-finished bottle away to stop herself from downing the rest. "How'd you know all this was my favourite?"

"The juice was a guess, but your dad told me about the food."

"Of course he did." She laughed. "He knows what I truly want."

Roy waved his fork around. "The way to a Maeve's heart is through her stomach." She cackle-snorted, and it was sort of adorable.

Roy piled a few more things onto his plate before relaxing against the foot of the sofa. Maeve had wisely decided to pin her hair up, and it exploded from her bun like a mass of curly fireworks. Strands quivered close enough to her mouth that she blew them away before shovelling in another helping of gumbo-jambalaya-scallop mix.

"I've been meaning to ask you something, Roy," she said between spoonfuls.

"Shoot."

"I'm six foot-three. I'm taller than your dang dad."

"What's your point?"

"Well…" She squirmed. "I don't know. You're not one of those dudes whose masculinity is so fragile he can't bear the thought of having a taller girlfriend, are you?"

He nearly spat out his food from laughing. "God, that's the most roundabout way to ask whether I like taller girls. In all honesty, I've never… thought about it, but if I had a real problem against it, Maeve, you would already be gone."

"It's kind of relevant now. Think about it."

His mind wandered. Not… much would change, surely? Maeve was tall enough to swing him off the ground by a foot at least; she could probably hold him bridal style, too. A blush rose up on his face at the thought.

"You're red," noted Maeve.

"No I'm not," he mumbled quickly.

She grinned the smuggest thing ever. "Yes, you are. You're not thinking _too_ hard about the height thing, are you?"

Damn Schreave genes. "I-I guess it would be nice to be the little spoon. That's all I'm saying."

"They're not mutually exclusive to height. Tall people can be little spoons—" She startled. "Hang on. Were you imagining us in bed?"

Now he couldn't help but imagine them cuddling under the covers on a pearly weekend morning, and the Schreave blush roared across his ears and neck. Maeve started laughing uncontrollably at him, and it was all he could do to huff and dig his spoon into the rice without fumbling in embarrassment.

"You've got a dirty mind for a hoity-toity prince!"

"It was just a passing thought!"

"Mmm-hmm! I don't believe you!"

"You've never thought about cuddling _me?"_

Maeve's cheeks flared. "Nuh-uh! But now _you're_ making me think about it! So now you've infected my innocent mind with your dirty thoughts!" She scoffed in teasing. "You could at least take me to dinner first!"

"Erm?!" He gestured wildly to the picnic, and Maeve boomed with laughter. It was wild, almost feral in freedom, a cackling that bounced against the floors and breached the walls of the palace. Infectious as it was, they both ended up rolling around making ugly, free snorts, nearly spilling the apple and elderflower juice on Roy's parlour carpets in their wake.

He was glad he could be honest with her. Have fun. It was nice to forget he was a prince, and just be a person. Dr Jugovach would probably say it was good for his health, at least.

"All right, I get a question now." He indicated to her eye. "How did you get your scar?"

"Ah, this ole' thing?" She brushed a hand down the three crags that tightened the skin around her cheek. "Okay. If you want the information, you must promise me that you won't laugh."

"I promise."

"I was attacked by a raccoon."

He blinked, hardly able to process it. _A raccoon?_ Of all the things, that was least expected. Maeve stared at him silently, judgingly, then nodded.

"You didn't laugh, so I forgive you for thinking about us in bed."

"I wasn't thinking about us in—" He sighed. "Never mind. How did you get it? When?"

"I was four. I think I might've stepped too close to a nest or something because the dang thing came out from nowhere and went for the face first. Been a little blind in my right eye since." She pulled back her one-piece to reveal a scar-bitten shoulder, not long enough to really examine it, but enough to see how deep it was. "Got me here and on my front, too. Nasty."

"Wow, I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "I guess it was just protecting itself and it's young."

"Still horrible for anyone, let alone a four-year old."

Maeve seemed keen to change the subject, so he left it there, and they ended up nattering about totally random subjects: estimating how many trees there were on the palace grounds, the absurdity of the Quidditch scoring system, and whether the stars could legitimately determine personality traits.

"You have a big family," he ventured when the conversation waned.

Like a deflating balloon, the air seemed to leak from her bounce. "Yeah. Me, Mom and Dad, Mies and Daniel, and then Charlie. It's a busy household."

"Not to pry, but why do you have Charlie? He's your cousin, right?"

"My uncle and aunt died when Charlie was young, so we took him in," she said. It was a sad realisation. "Then we adopted Mies and Daniel, and they're about Charlie's age, so it's nice he has company, even if they annoy him sometimes. I'm the odd one out, hahah." Her laugh fell flat.

"Your mom and dad are both your biological parents though, so really…"

She shrugged in a nonchalant way, but her voice betrayed her bitterness. "Yeah, well, those four might as well be the biological kids for all the ways Mom showers them with kindness and affection."

"I noticed you two…" He trailed off, wincing. This wasn't exactly the greatest topic for a date, but Maeve powered on.

"We've never really got along. I don't know why. She just wants me to be _better,_ I guess. More ladylike and stuff." She twirled her hand and pitched her voice higher. "Alack! My lord, you interrupted my sewing!"

Laughter hurled from him and he had to cover his mouth to stop any sauce spilling out. "Your idea of ladylike is from the 1800s!"

"My point still stands!" She grinned. "But yeah. Even me entering the Selection and making it to the Elite isn't good enough, it seems."

"I think you're fine just the way you are."

"Why thank you, Your Most Royal Highness," she said. "But I know already. I'm pretty content with who I am. No mother can change my mind." She faux-tossed her hair for effect.

It had annoyed her on the night, he remembered, her lively personality doused like lava by rain. But it was good to see her volcano wasn't extinct. They continued to eat, but the mood had dipped and wasn't rising. Maeve shuffled her weight from side to side before placing down her fork.

"You know, the Convicting…" she started suddenly amidst a mouthful. "You remember my Convicted, Estelle-something? She… she said something about you…"

He'd already shoved the awful event out of his head, but Maeve mentioning it brought the recent memory back in a rush like a wind current through a tunnel. Estelle's escort had said she'd 'drugged an official', the dressed-up way of telling the audience what she'd done to Roy without actually revealing how easily she'd breached the palace.

"She was trying to get into my head, probably," said Roy, politely dodging the implication.

"Drugging an official. That's really bad." Maeve scratched her head. "And then her yelling that crud, about a bird twice descending to eat you… Did you know her? The way she was staring at you…"

For as boisterous as Maeve was, she was oddly perceptive about this. His gut rolled as he recalled Estelle's gaunt face, her cracked and sinister grin. Luna may have clicked about Estelle's identity, but it didn't mean he could tell the world about the drugging.

"I knew of her, yes. I suppose she enjoyed making me uncomfortable." He shrugged. "Though we were all uncomfortable yesterday."

She studied him for a moment, head cocked to one side, hair spilling down onto her shoulders. There was a gentleness behind her eyes.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she whispered. "I mean, you know, you were taken hostage… and finding out Avianna's been cheating behind your back can't have been fun, and then you had to do the Convicting with all of us… I mean, unless you _asked_ to Convict her and I totally missed it, but by the look on your face, you didn't, so…"

She shut her mouth like she'd told him too much about her bowel movements. He placed his plate down and watched, maybe for too long, as the steam ribboned from the meat and rice.

"I didn't ask to Convict her. My dad did it without my knowledge, and that plus other things… I haven't talked to him since."

"Oh, Roy. That sucks," she said. "But I know His Majesty loves you and stuff, so he'll come to his senses and you'll make up soon. I think he was just doing what he thought was best for you, and maybe he thought you Convicting Avianna would help you get over her."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Maybe."

Her sympathetic smile dipped until it wasn't a smile at all. "I guess he made the wrong call there, huh?"

He clenched his fists around his knees. "Yeah. He made the wrong call for all of us." He couldn't look her in the eye. "But Avianna is gone. Regina is gone. It doesn't matter how I feel anymore."

"It does," Maeve encouraged, her warmth returning. "It's not your fault you had to do your prince thing. You're a good dude."

He laughed despite himself. "Thanks. I've always wanted to be a _good dude."_

"I mean it. Your dad knows it, too, so he'll apologise soon. I'm a hundred percent certain."

Warmth spilled through his veins, and he tried, failed, to stop a smile rising onto his face. "Thank you, Maeve." Though Roy wasn't going to seek out an apology any time soon. That was on Merrick's shoulders.

"Speaking of _good dudes,"_ Maeve suddenly said, "I need the restroom."

It was such an honest admittance that Roy nearly choked on air. "That was the worst segue ever. I told you not to drink so fast."

She stuck out her tongue as she stood up. "I regret nothing. Where's the nearest one?"

"Probably mine. Across the hallway, in my bedroom."

"Back in a second!" She bounced from the room, nearly smacking headfirst into Durante as she did.

Roy swirled his drink and savoured the taste. How did anyone keep up with her boundless energy? How could her mother not see what a wonderful person she was? She may have been crass and loud, but it was her cheer that raised up the people around her. She was a beacon of joy, and people were drawn to it for just a taste of that wholesomeness.

Everyone loved her, including him. Only now, it was a question of whether he loved her as a close friend, or as something else entirely.

"Don't take too long!" he yelled back to push away the thought for now. "And Rudy hasn't cleaned it since yesterday, so—"

Then it hit him. The Board.

It was in his bathroom.

 _Oh no._

" _Maeve!"_

He spilt his drink as he scrambled up. Under no circumstances could he have a repeat of the Merrick situation, not with anyone else, but especially not with the suspects that were the Elite and Maeve.

Shoving past Durante, Roy skidded into his room, then his bathroom. "Maeve—"

The lights were on, blindingly bright against his bathroom tiles. The divider had been moved.

And Maeve was staring at the Board.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh noooo! How is Maeve gonna' react? Will it be as volatile as Merrick's reaction? Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Today I'm going to take the opportunity to plug **Ruby Casablanca** 's Selection SYOC, **Princess, Interrupted.** The story is about the lesbian French princess, Gen, forced to instate a male Selection for the good of France and y'all, it's so good. Great plot, fun and diverse characters, and sumptuous writing. I'm jelly of every chapter posted. There's a link at the bottom of my profile where you can check it out (next to my submitted boy Lochan, who you'll... meet, heh). I totally recommend it!

As always, thank you kindly for reviewing, favouriting and following, friends! If one could give out doughnuts over the Internet, I would give every single one of you doughnuts. Krispy Kreme doughnuts. They're the good ones.

~ GWA

NTT: " _I'm blue! If I was green I would die, if I was greeeen, I would die!"_


	55. Spy Against Spy

Merrick knowing about the Board, about the spy, was a matter Roy could privately deal with. His father became angry, made Roy Convict his own, but after that, all was even. Everything was smooth. Relatively.

But Roy had not anticipated what would happen if one of the Selected found out about the spy.

Or if she was the spy herself.

"Ignore that!" he blurted, rushing to stand between Maeve and the Board, but the girl was rooted to the spot like her heels were glued to the bathroom tiles.

Her eyes roved over the fluttering papers and filmy photos, consuming every detail with laboriousness. Roy's adrenaline leapt and lunged. If Maeve weren't a head taller than him and way stockier, he'd have plucked her up from the ground and forcefully removed her from the scene. But it was too late.

"What… what _is_ this?" she whispered, then she turned, her hair flying out. "What is this, Roy?"

Roy gulped. "I-It's hard to explain—"

Maeve's eyebrows sloped into her eyes as she edged around him. "You— you pervert!"

Something clanged inside Roy. _Wait. What?_

"You're a creep!" she yelled with more conviction. "Pictures of us in your dang washroom! You staring at us whilst you do your business here!"

The divider – he mustn't have moved it back correctly. Its exact purpose was to stop the Selected profiles watching him. Too gobsmacked to do anything, Roy's mouth failed to move, and Maeve took the silence as assent as she sprinted out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

"I can't believe you're such a creep! I thought you were a nice guy, but I guess it's all a part you play for the cameras!"

"M-Maeve, wait—!" He called, but she was already gone.

That was the last thing he was expecting. As moments passed, his insides tightened with confusing anticipation.

What… the heck did he do now?

Durante poked a head inside, one eyebrow raised on his forehead. "Is everything okay, sir?"

The world was dizzying. Roy squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. "Yes, I'm fine. Maeve— she saw the Board, but she didn't draw the same conclusion as Dad did." After replacing the divider to its true position, Roy ran a hand through his hair. "She thinks I was using it to…"

"To be a creep?" Durante finished.

Roy nodded mutely. Somehow, this made him feel morally worse than Maeve discovering the second spy. And unless this was an elaborate act to get him to feel terrible, there was truly a disconnect between Maeve's perception and the Board's actual purpose.

His smacked his forehead. "God, I feel like a moron now. What am I going do?"

Durante winced, and when Durante winced, Roy knew it was really bad. "Under normal circumstances, I'd explain what you're really using the Board for, but doing that…"

It was either she knew about the Board or she thought him a pervert for the rest of his life. Neither sat well in his stomach. A matter of protection versus a matter of personal integrity. All this because he'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts. All this, because she'd drank too much juice.

"I'll… think of something…"

With Durante hot on his heels, Roy swept out of the room towards the Selected quarters. Even if his mind hadn't decided on one of the tumbled mess of excuses to use, he knew he had to face Maeve before she spread the word like a forest fire. He knocked once, twice, then five times on her door, to no avail. Not even a sharp _Go away!_

"She's not here, Your Highness," said her door guard.

Roy spun to him. "What? She didn't come back here?"

"No, sir," said the guard. "But I did hear her unmistakable voice yelling down the hallway. Downstairs somewhere, perhaps."

Dread clenched his every muscle. God, the _Woman's Room._

He hightailed it down and burst inside, ignoring the protocol. The room might've been serene and calm without his dishevelled desperation, the last of the late afternoon light pattering against the soft flutter of curtains, but Maeve had beat him to it. She bounced on her feet, arms gesticulating wildly.

And the rest of the Selected girls were around her.

Each set of eyes swerved on him like red-orbed predators in the hush of night. Sweat gripped him at their accusation.

Maeve pointed. "You come to apologise, Roy? For being a creep?"

 _What do I say?_ Words babbled from him. "I-It's not what it looks like—"

"What's a board with all the girls' faces in your bathroom _supposed_ to look like?" Katrina snorted.

"I-I know it sounds bad, but—"

"Don't try to discredit me," Maeve barked. "I saw it! And I saw that guilty look on your face when you realised I saw it! And now all the girls know what a weirdo you are!" She crossed her arms, chest pushing out in defiance. "Some guys are super predatory and we all thought you weren't one of them, but this is the exact sort of thing they'd do!"

And he was saddened to see that no one was disagreeing or sticking up for him. They _encouraged_ it. If Maeve suddenly decided to leave, maybe they'd all follow behind, too.

Then he'd have no Selection. What a bizarre turn of events.

He didn't blame her though. In her position, he would've assumed the exact same thing.

" _Please,"_ Roy begged. "Please, Maeve, can I just talk to you in private—"

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say to my friends. We have each other's backs, and I don't want any of them to get hurt—"

"I'm not trying to hurt any of you, or creep on you, I promise. But please, Maeve, I just need a minute of your time. I-I'll explain what it is."

She leered at him over Elise's head. "There's no real explanation, but fine. Only a minute." She marched out of the Women's Room. Roy dodged the gazes of the other girls and trailed behind.

Only a minute. What was he even going to say?

Maeve paused in the hallway, far enough from the guards. Arms crossed, cheeks puffed, she had the face of a young girl trying to be angry. In any other circumstances, he'd find it endearing, but on Maeve it was as terrifying as a horror movie serial killer child on the loose. And she was bigger than him.

"Go on, then. Explain yourself."

He cobbled together a lie like a poor man might cobble a shoe from scraps. "I have the Board to help me with my Selection. The profiles and notes give me a visual to go on. I only use it when I'm confused about who to eliminate next, or my feelings—"

"And you keep it in your bathroom? Tch," she mumbled, though more quietly than before. "Everyone knows you're doing a Selection. Why can't you keep it in your bedroom?"

"Would it have made it any better?"

"I mean, yeah. You're way less likely to be butt-spankin' naked in your bedroom than in your bathroom. And I don't wanna' know what you do in there."

He flushed from tip to toe. "Fair point, but I find it… embarrassing. I pour my true feelings into the Board for my own benefit, and I… don't like other people seeing it. I didn't think anyone but Rudy and I would be in my bathroom for any length of time."

The harshness of her scrutiny made him swallow.

"Okay, say I believe you," Maeve ventured. "Why don't you explain your creep-tacular notes on the Elite girls? Yeah, I read them. All about some argument Lilly and Eulalia had, about Luna speaking Korean, or Cami climbing trees—"

His heart launched into his throat. She _had_ read them. So then… she knew everything, but hadn't thought it meant another spy. Merrick had instantly connected the dots, but he was in the headspace to do so. Maeve, on the other hand…

"It didn't look like you were 'pouring your heart' into that board," she continued. "Keeping tabs on people's habits is creepy, not helpful."

And he had no explanation for that. Biting his lip, he checked the how far the other guards were away before taking Maeve's hand and leading her to the nearest sitting room. Maeve protested, but seeing the dire look on his face shut her mouth zip tight.

In the Illéa Drawing Room, his furthest ancestors were judging him from the oil paintings hung on the walls. The eyes of the Illéas and the Porters followed him no matter where he paced in the room. Watching their helpless descendant with pity and derision.

"Can you keep a secret?"

She snatched her arm back and said, "Depends."

Should he even be doing this? Maeve was loud, bouncy, and wild, unfitting for the role of hidden rebel. He trusted her – she was his least likely candidate for spy – but there was still a chance his instincts were wrong. If he told her the truth about the Board, would it all come flooding back in the form of an angry rebel assault?

Staring at her intense expression, how adamantly protective she was of the Elite… he prayed to any god that would have him that she was innocent.

"It has to do with my kidnapping."

Her shoulders dropped, but her narrowed gaze didn't relent. "What's your pervert board got to do with the kidnapping?"

"I knew about the rebel spy before I was kidnapped."

She staggered like she'd been hit. "What? But… Skye—"

"I didn't know it was Skye. Just one of my Selected. That's what the Board was for, to help me gather my thoughts and figure out who she was." To not much success, but he wouldn't admit that. "After Skye, when I thought it was over, I was going to dispose of the Board, but shortly after I chose my Elite, I found out… I found out there was a second spy."

This time, she was too stunned for words. Taking advantage of the silence, Roy explained everything as succinctly as he could. The Board's purpose and why he hid it in his bathroom. The divider. The care he had taken to hide it from Acketeer. Merrick finding out and becoming paranoid enough to instate a Convicting.

Maeve was sitting in the sofas by the time he finished, jaw tight, clenching at the armrests like they might sink into the floor at any moment.

"So… so one of those girls in there… is a rebel spy?" She gulped. "And I just told them all you have a spy board in your bathroom?"

"Yeah."

"And… you told me this?" she began faintly. "How do you know _I'm_ not the… spy…? You don't suspect me, do you?"

Roy's hesitation was enough for hurt to cross her, but he quickly said, "I don't know if you're the spy or not. I'm risking it all here." He paused, heart in his throat. "I suspected every one of the Elite until now. You… you, I trust."

Each spike of terror that blundered through him was tangible enough to pin him to the wall. Was this it? Was this the end of them? But Maeve's expression was nothing but honesty, one that came from her own heart.

"I'm no spy," she said. "I'm no spy, I promise it. I'll swear on my grandma's grave if you want me to."

And he believed her. Relief battled through the fear, until his stomach was but fluttering from what could've been, on any other occasion, mere first date nerves.

Maeve sat back and stared at the ceiling. Roy padded over to join her, keeping a safe distance away. The central wall art was chaos – ancestors of old mingling and coalescing in their brocade and tuxedos, dancing and twirling until their brush strokes blurred. Somewhat fitting for the current state of his head.

"Jeez, that's… I don't really know what to say, Roy." She peeled her gaze to him. "That explains so much about you."

"What?" he said. "What does it explain?"

"Why you've been so distant for the entire Selection."

Something inside him trembled. "What? Have… have I?"

Maeve fixed him with a pitiful look. "All us girls, we're smart, y'know. Noticed that you've been oddly withdrawn this whole time. Like, at this point, most princes would've dated all of us, but you're still getting around to the last two even though you're already down to the final six. I just pegged it to you being an awkward lemon, but now with this hanging over your head…"

She trailed off, mouth twitching with words she couldn't say.

She was right. So right, the realisation tore through him, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of his heart. _Distant,_ unable to trust or laugh or love freely.

"That's major suckage, that is," she whispered.

Despite himself, he laughed. "Thanks. That fits perfectly."

For a moment, the quiet between them mulled like a cool winter wine, the only sounds ringing from the grandfather clock. Then Maeve took his hands in hers. Her hold was warm and empowering.

"I am… really sorry. I didn't know— I mean, if I did know, I'd still be super sorry, because this whole situation is the dictionary definition of poop, but now I just made it a thousand times worse because all the girls know about your Board—"

"It's okay," he interrupted. "What's done is done."

"Yeah, but… I wish I could go back in time at eighty-eight miles-per-hour and correct it all." She patted his hands and beamed. "I'm glad you're not a pervert though."

"Really raising the standards there."

Maeve didn't laugh. "You've basically been dealing with this on your own, too. I mean, your mom is one thing, and your valet and your bodyguard and your advisor, and now your dad, but it's just six of you that know."

Roy shrugged. "We risk the word getting out if we tell too many people."

Maeve rose from the chair and placed a fist to her chest. Her smile had taken on an edge of confidence, an unstoppable force of nature that churned unfettered through the world.

"Well, let's call it quits at seven then. It's time we turn the tables, and stick it to them rebels good. I want to help."

He shot up. "Whoa, no. It's too dangerous—"

"Your pregnant mom is helping! If she can, so can I." She stubbornly stomped her foot down like it had been set in stone. "I know the girls. I trust them, and they trust me. If one of them's faking it, I'll find it out quicker than you can say, er, _faker."_

Maeve had the closest relationship with the Elite, and whilst he didn't have an excuse to hang around them the whole time, she did. But the risk— if she was caught, what then? The rebels would catch her? Use her as bait? Yuriko was the first Selected to know the truth, but she was gone, flittering the country with her circus and away from prying minds, but keeping Maeve here might as well have painted a target on her back.

Could she even keep a secret this large? Would it damage her relationship with the others?

"I didn't tell you so you'd help me," Roy said. "I told you so you could retract the statement about me, for their sake and mine. I can't put that expectation on you."

She crossed her arms. "What, so, you'll just burden it all by yourself? Nuh-uh. Not happening."

"I'd prefer to solve this without involving—"

"Nope! Can't hear you! La la la!" She stuck her fingers in her ears. "What's that? You want me to help you?"

"Maeve—"

"Caaaaan't hear you! _I'm blue! If I was green I would die, if I was greeeen, I would die!"_

A chuckle bubbled before he could help himself. "That's not how the song goes. It's _da ba dee da ba die._ "

"I still can't— oh." She giggled. "I'll keep singing the wrong lyrics if you don't let me help you."

"Maeve, this is serious." Even if he was trying to stop himself laughing _._ "Knowing this… it'll haunt you. You won't be able to act the same around them."

"So what're you gonna' do about me now, then?" she challenged. "Lock me up? Erase my memory with some voodoo witchcraft? Chop my head off?"

"I-I don't know," he admitted. "If you don't want to get involved, I can… I can send you home."

Her chest puffed in indignation. "I don't want to go home. I like it here." Her face fell. "I mean, if you wanna' eliminate me, that's… your choice and all, but I can get you all the inside scoop and goss. I can be the spy against the spy."

He turned this in his head. _Spy against spy._ Not even Ji-Yu or Gemima could sidle in so close with the others. It was still risky, but if she was willing to do it, he was willing to let her.

And he didn't want to eliminate Maeve either. He enjoyed her company too much to let it go.

"All right," Roy conceded. "All right. You can help me. If… you're absolutely sure…?"

"I'm absolutely sure. Super sure. Surer than an insurer."

Now they were partners, sealed in history and stone, set in fate under the watchful eyes of his ancestors. It didn't seem to bother Maeve, how difficult this task would be, and perhaps she was being overly optimistic, but that was exactly what he needed right now. Blind optimism, to see the dark days through.

She smiled, each of her teeth on show. "Great, so, what's the plan? When's the next Board meeting?"

He winced. "Well, before that, what are we going to do about the other Elite girls knowing about the Board? They might all walk out."

"You just leave it to me."

Somehow, Roy was not comforted by this.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Heads swivelled to face Roy and Maeve when she dramatically shoved the Women's Room doors open. They clattered against the walls with a force so powerful it echoed through the room and outer hallway like thunder.

"Fam!" she yelled. "I made a mistake!"

Roy tried not to cringe. Maeve had bolted from the drawing room back to the Women's Room so fast he had to jog to keep pace. She hadn't said a word of _how_ she was planning to rectify her mistakes, make the girls believe in him again, and he hadn't prompted her, too awed by her zeal.

Guess he was chewing on his silence now.

The girls approached tentatively. Katrina was scowling, a ruination of her appealing tulle-draped plum princess attire, but she wasn't the one he was worried about. Luna was the least impressed, mouth a thin line and eyebrow raised enduringly like it was a stroke of permanent marker on her forehead. Camilla had a face as staunch as stone. Even the shyer girls, Ambrosia and Lilly, were watching Roy for something suspicious.

"You made a mistake?" squeaked Elise.

"Yes. Roy does not have a pervert board— well, he _sort of_ does. Not really. Kinda'."

Roy turned agonisingly to face her. _Not helping,_ he burned to say.

Maeve whirled her hands. "Okay, I _thought_ it was a pervert board. But it's actually a board to help Roy remember his Selected. Like, it just has our Selected form portraits attached with some notes about us. Our old castes, our provinces. Careers. Couple of cute moments he's had with us. No creepy pap shots of us walking to the store, or, er, weird love poetry."

That helped. Maybe. Roy glanced at the girls: mixed reactions abound. Elise, Ambrosia and Lilly seemed to be in understanding, whereas Luna and Camilla were still left staring with their unimpressed, narrowed eyes.

"There's… only six of us…" said Camilla.

"There wasn't before," said Roy quickly, before Maeve could conjure some mad ploy in his name, or use the phrase _pervert board_ again. "I've… had it since the start of my Selection, and taken names off when the respective lady was eliminated."

"That's right," said Maeve, as if she could know anything about it. "I don't know about you, but Roy is _terrible_ remembering details. He probably couldn't name all his Selected, could you, Roy?"

"I mean, now I'd probably be able to—"

"See? He's completely incompetent without it!" She started to laugh, almost manic. "He has to get his valet to help, he's so terrible!"

Just this once, Roy decided not to comment.

Luna didn't look convinced. "Why was it in your bathroom?"

"His valet was cleaning his bedroom and happened to move it into his bathroom to do his duty and stuff." Maeve snorted. "Well, not _do the duty,_ if you catch my drift—"

"Yes, thank you, Maeve." Cheeks alight, the last thing Roy wanted to think about was Rudy _doing his duty._ "But yeah. I hope you can see this is a mix-up. I promise your integrity, well-being and lives are held to high standards, by me and everyone else here."

"It's like a really big diary that you can see," Maeve rambled on. "Except less wordy. And come on, girls, it's not like we haven't all written about the handsome but ab-less Prince Roy in _our_ diaries, right?"

Elise flushed. "Oh, I guess that's a good point…"

"Lilly writes in her diary every night," said Eulalia, signing for Lilly. "She writes to her parents every other night, too."

"I don't keep a diary," said Luna, frowning. "Never have."

"I'm not ab-less," protested Roy, but no one heard him.

Ambrosia turned to Luna, an _o_ shaping her mouth. "You've never kept a diary?"

"I have a diary." Katrina said. "I write all of my greatest achievements inside."

"So it's empty?" teased Camilla.

Katrina stuck out her tongue. "Don't be mad just because you can't referee for my Snap games anymore!"

The two girls bickered as the others input opinions along the way, and the conversation somehow dissolved into who was the better Go Fish player in their round of cards the night before. Though it was sweet to see them bonding so well, a pang of sadness rolled through too – he didn't get the opportunity just to pal around with these girls as friends. He was too concerned about rebels.

 _We've noticed that you've been oddly withdrawn from us this whole Selection._

"Hey," he blurted above the fanfare. "I don't know how to play Go Fish. Can you all… teach me?"

They looked between each other in astonishment before a chorus of _yes_ es burst through. Together, the girls pulled tables, chairs, cushions and cards together like they'd done this before. As efficient as a well-oiled machine.

Maeve winked at him as they did, like she could just read Roy's thought process. "I got your back." She bowed to his ear and whispered, "If any rebel wants to take me on, I'll just sit on them and it'll be their funeral."

He laughed at the mental image. "Thanks."

She bounced into motion to help set up, but he didn't fail to notice the twinge of sadness that crossed her as fleeting as a shooting star. She knew one of these girls was going to betray him, and in turn, betray her, too. One of them was faking their friendship like Skye had.

Instead of letting it get her down, though, Maeve approached all of them with a smile. Like nothing had changed.

He wished he had that disposition. For now, he was choosing to embrace it like she had. Maybe just for this fragile moment in time, but it was a moment all the same.

Katrina was standing off to the side, studying the prince with narrowed eyes. He felt her gaze like lasers on his back, but still, she sat down with the rest of the girls, and said nothing as Camilla walked him through the steps.

As Roy showed his hand to Camilla for help, his shoulders relaxed and his mind tuned to the cards. The simplicity of just playing. The game continued and he said _Go Fish_ at the wrong moments and the others laughed at him, but he breathed properly for the first time in so long.

A normal Selection. Was that such a farfetched wish?

"Ambrosia, do you have an Aces?" said Maeve.

"Go Fish," she replied.

"What? But you picked them up last round… didn't you?"

"Erm, actually, Roy took them."

Suddenly, Katrina slammed down her cards. "Hold the game for a moment. I want to talk to Fitzroy." Her chair scraped back, and she grabbed Roy's arm. "And Maeve, I will flay you alive if you peak at my cards."

She dragged him from the Women's Room. Déjà vu. This time, he didn't squirm or dig his heels into the carpet, and let Katrina lead him into the hallway outside. Not even this small peace of his could last without someone wanting something from him.

Katrina shooed off his guard and whirled to face him, expression stony.

"I want your word," she began, "that you're not using the Board for some nefarious purpose."

"I swear it," he said earnestly, hoping this was the last time they'd ever mention the Board ever again.

"All right," Katrina said, nose wrinkling. There was a short pause before she spoke again. "You are a weird person, Fitzroy."

Roy rolled his eyes, but the comment wasn't said meanly or to sting. "Why do you say that?"

"Lately, I can't put my finger on you," she said. "I thought it was because the whole process was overwhelming, but even now that you've whittled your Selected down to the Elite, you still haven't done more than dipped your toes. It's like you don't want to try with your Selected, but then you pull stunts like your diary-board, and I don't know anymore."

He winced. Maeve's words, echoed back to him in a new form. If Maeve _and_ Katrina noticed his guarded heart, then everyone did. It made nothing easier.

"I need to be better with the Elite. I know that," he admitted slowly. "It's just…"

"Just what? Are you afraid of falling in love?"

The hollow piece of his heart crumbled further, eking out to let the nothingness through. It felt strange to let it all go. This was the last thing he expected to talk about, with Katrina no less. But she wasn't wrong.

Katrina must've read his face. Her eyes flashed in surprise for a moment, before softening. "Hmm. Well, that's not what I expected from you, either." She flung a hand out. "Your family doesn't exactly have a bad history when it comes to the Selection's success."

Oh, the irony. He resisted the dark chuckle that rose in his throat. "It's not something I can really explain." _Especially not without telling you about the spy._ "I don't… want to hurt anyone, myself included."

"What's that phrase?" Katrina said. "Better to love and have lost than to never love at all?"

"That's not what I mean," Roy countered. "This isn't the same."

"How?"

He rubbed his neck, straying his gaze to the ground. "It's just not."

Katrina blew out a sigh. "The Elite don't deserve someone who's going to half-ass it, Fitzroy," she said sternly. "You said yourself after the Convicting that you wanted more intimacy. That has to come from you, too. The Elite have faith in you, but if you're not going to really get to know them, what's the point of keeping them here?"

The whole reason the Selection was forced upon him was so he could grow up, out of his teenage persona and into an heir worthy of his country. But it had dragged the girls along, too, becoming unwitting pawns to help him grow whether they wanted it or not. Whether he became the prince his title spoke of or not. Unfair to him, unfair to them.

Not so anymore, in recent days, where the waning numbers of his Selected were beginning to ignite some innate excitement within his soul. He had grown, had climbed forth from the person he was half a year ago, and though he now wanted the Selection and the Selected, yet still, the Elite might as well have been on the other side of a chasm for all he'd tried to bridge the gap.

"I promise I'm trying, Katrina," he mumbled. "Recent circumstances have made it… difficult."

She paused.

"I get it. That loser rebel girl makes you question everything, everyone, but if you live your life in fear of that happening again, you're never going to enjoy it for what it is."

But it was going to happen again. Because of the spy. She was here, the rebels' sources peeling away information piece by piece, one of his Elite still out to betray him. Protecting himself from potential heartbreak meant refusing to form deep connections.

He was going to hurt again. A rinse and repeat of before, except a thousand times worse, if he let himself fall. Right now, as the darkness crawled inside him, there was nothing in his chest but scattered hope and a dream for a better life.

Yet, Katrina's words rang with truth nonetheless. Why bother continuing the Selection, if not to find someone to love? Scattered hope could gather, a dream could become a reality. The darkness would make way for light, even for just a moment.

If only he tried.

He ran a hand through his hair. His tapered sides were beginning to grow out again, whispers against his palms.

"I'll… keep that in mind."

"You better." She made the _I'm watching you_ sign, lips pursed with disdain. "Chew on it for a while. But not too long. The girls want answers, and you shouldn't keep them waiting."

The door clamoured shut, and Roy was left to his thoughts in the hallway. He leant against the wall, just listening them having fun without him. Forging true relationships with one another.

Another chip off his heart. He craved it, that innocence, that ability to just live in the world without having to worry. He was afraid of getting closer to all of them, any of them, and it was debilitating for everyone.

 _Are you afraid of falling in love?_

Yes. He was.

But no longer.

The spy would not take this away from him, too.

The excuse for the Board's existence was to help him with the Selection, help him choose the One. So… why couldn't it do that, too? It wasn't like the Board was short of space, now when there were only six girls. The lie could become a truth.

Only problem now was convincing his family and friends of the same thing.

Maeve was the seventh to find out about the spy. The other six… they had their doubts too. They consulted and preened at the Board for information and know-how. If Roy was going to free himself from reservations, he needed his companions to do the same – at least partly.

As Roy's closest friend, Rudy had briefly met some of them before, and he'd seen the girls around plenty of times, but he'd never had the chance to interact with them. He was the wisest person Roy knew around his own age, with Rudy's opinions tending to be sound and unbiased and the earth to Roy's sky.

Start small. Expand the Board. Introduce Rudy to the final six. He could help mould his current opinions. Build from there.

Coming to a firm decision, Roy nodded and spun on his heels. Up until this point, it had been his terror first, his dreams second, and his life revolved around the looming Southern Rebel threat.

But not anymore.

* * *

 **A/N:** So Maeve survives and becomes Roy's agent, and Roy pummels through the spy's influence. What will happen next? Ollo all, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

If you haven't seen it already, I updated **Select Few** this week, which you can read from my stories! From Sherlock's POV, it details a certain hockey game with a certain princess... I also created a new cover, which you can find on my Pinterest (now with a glorious _e_ at the end of my username, huzzah!) in my "tsts || the selection and the spy" board. I highly recommend you check it out, as it really captures the dark and serious tone of The Selection and the Spy. ;)

I'm trying to do a weekly updates thing now, every Sunday, but this chapter proved a tricky mistress and shows how you can well and truly screw yourself over if you don't double-check, triple-check things (in my instance, I literally miscounted something. Lol). Alas, I think everything is fixed now, so our weekly schedule should continue without a hitch... *fingers crossed*

Many thanks for your lovely reviews, favourites and follows. All fanfiction writers have one thing in common: when we post a new update, we obsessively check our emails for feedback, and nothing makes my day more than reading your hilarious reactions. It's really great to know the hard work pays off. So thank you, and thanks fo reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "I just think this ridiculous scheming is going to end badly, whether that means your relationship with her suffering, or something worse…"

P.S. _Blue_ by Eiffel 65 is the song mentioned in this chapter. A classic banger, it is.


	56. A Lone Beacon

When Maeve arrived at the next morning's Board meeting, things got awkward.

It wasn't like Roy hadn't told everyone in advance she was coming, because he had, to varying reactions: Rudy had heard talk from Durante, but still winced at the news; Ji-Yu nearly choked on her sautéed salmon at dinner; and even Gemima rolled her lips in distaste, her equivalent of a dramatic wail of horror.

Nonetheless, it didn't alleviate the uneasy fog between them all as they stared at her, at the threshold of his bedroom.

Maeve lumbered by the door, unusually complacent with her expression. She fidgeted with her hands, fussed her painted nails.

"Er, heyo, Board peeps," she mumbled. "How… er, how is everyone?"

Ji-Yu studied Maeve with hard, cold eyes. Pity washed through Roy; he was so used to that stare, the pool of hopelessness that formed in his stomach from it, but this was Maeve's first scrutiny, and now she had to suffer it, too.

"Miss Reynolds," she clipped, ignoring the question. "Come inside."

Maeve scampered inside, but didn't sit, as Roy was standing next to the Board attached to his bed posts. "Thank you, Your Majesty, ma'am."

Durante gave Roy a nod to start.

"Where's your father?" asked Ji-Yu before Roy could say anything. Her skin was paler today, probably from an apparent bout of early morning sickness she had suffered. "He should be here, too."

His arms felt unnaturally cold, and he rubbed with fervent hands. "I didn't invite him."

Roy hadn't talked to Merrick, even looked at him, since their argument after the Convicting two days ago. Just thinking about that moment brought a fresh wave of humiliation, for himself, for the Elite, for Avianna, and he couldn't bring himself to be the better person and step up to talk to him.

Merrick hadn't either. An impasse, it seemed.

Ji-Yu just sighed. "He can provide insight. You know that, Jun."

"Too late," Roy said quickly. "We're all here now."

Maeve frowned, more heavily than she already was, but didn't say anything, the palpable tension of her presence still thick in the air.

Ji-Yu made a dismissive wave. "Fine, fine. I'll fill him in later. Let's start."

Roy proceeded to update them on all the happenings since their last Board meeting, a few days ago, before the Convicting. Not much had transpired by the way of news about the spy, aside from Regina and Avianna's innocence, but he did fill them in on his decision to use the Board for two purposes – finding the spy, and finding his One.

To his surprise, everyone seemed pleased about it. Maeve even clapped before she remembered the watchful eyes of the queen, and her elation died out.

"That's a good decision, Your Highness," said Gemima. She was leaning against his wall, arms crossed. "It may even motivate you more to uncover the spy before the Selection's end."

"Yes, that's what I'm hoping for." He was now, at least. He gestured to Rudy, whose face was frustratingly neutral. "I want Rudy to meet them more formally, too, so we can discuss the girls in better detail. I hope he can befriend them like I have."

Rudy's eyes went wide. "You want _me_ to befriend the Elite?"

"It just makes sense. Who better to help me decide than my trustworthy valet and closest friend?" Roy said, rolling his shoulders. "I would want my future wife and best friend to become friends, don't you think? Might as well start early."

"You know I don't want to influence your decisions," Rudy muttered. "Whoever you choose to win should be your choice, and your choice alone."

"I know that." Roy recalled his advice during the first meet with the Selected. Rudy had chosen Avianna, of all people, for Roy to date first. "But at least you'll be better equipped to talk about the girls with me if you actually know them. And you know how that old phrase goes: _if you wanna' be my lover, you gotta' get with my friends._ "

Maeve furrowed her brow. "Did he just quote the Spice Girls?"

"He did just quote the Spice Girls," Roy said, grinning. "They knew what they were talking about. A friend of a friend and a friend's lover should get along."

Silence blanketed the group.

"I suppose," Rudy said eventually, gaze flitting elsewhere.

Roy gulped. "Well, by your reaction, you don't want to, which is… fine, I guess, but—"

"It's not that I don't want to, Your Highness," he cut across. "I admit, I don't know the girls very well, and besides Lady Seph and now Lady Maeve, I didn't make an effort to talk to any of them beyond our brief introduction and passing in the hallway. But…"

Roy almost didn't ask. "What are you nervous about?"

Rudy passed him a hard stare. "Same thing as you. One of them is… you know." He sighed. "I… I can't help but feel apprehensive around all of them."

"That is a mutual feeling," say Ji-Yu, in a surprisingly small voice.

He felt it, too, but it wasn't going to stop him. "A dose of apprehension is good. Distance is not. The rate I'm going, I'll never choose the One, and they'll all leave out of resentment."

Ji-Yu sighed. "Son, I want you to find peace and balance so badly. I want you to have the same happiness I did when I participated in the Selection. But I warned you, right at the start… that doing this risks heartbreak. I figured by now the spy would've been gone, that you'd be free to pursue any lady you should choose, but with the unexpected second one…" She drew in a long breath, unable to look anywhere but the walls. "I don't want to see you hurt. By doing this, you're going to set yourself up for disaster. Are you sure it's what you want?"

He'd already considered it. If it were possible he would be betrayed, shattering his heart into a thousand pieces, he'd take it every time, if there was but a flicker of a chance at happiness.

He smiled, but couldn't help the bitter undertone to his voice. "The spy has made it this far. I care about all of them in some capacity already. My heart's going to break, no matter who it is."

Air thinned at the words. But Rudy, in all his goodness, stepped towards Roy and patted his shoulder.

"Then at least you won't have to face it alone. I'm happy to help."

Maeve came to take his other side.

"And you have me, too. I got your back, like I said."

His heart crinkled with affection. "Thanks, you two." He looked at his mother, and almost stumbled at the sadness that poured from her gaze like an aura made tangible.

But Ji-Yu nodded, settled her hands on her lap. "All right. If you think it best. Miss Reynolds," she turned to her, "what information can you contribute to the Board?"

Moment dashed, Roy stepped back and allowed Maeve to study the Board – properly, this time, with no risk of her blurting its existence to everyone in the palace anymore.

"Ambrosia and Luna…" Her fingers danced over the notes of their suspicious behaviour. "Ambrosia is way too nice and Luna is way too honest to spy for the rebels."

Just like that. Done and dusted.

"Could you elaborate on your reasoning?" asked Gemima. "According to His Highness, this behaviour is highly irregular for them."

"Oh, yeah, it is," Maeve agreed. "Ambrosia has always been a bit shy and reserved though, so her dismissing her maids more often— is that really a big deal?"

"So close to the end of the Selection, everything's a big deal," said Roy. "Tensions are running high and we're hoping it exposes some of the cracks in the rebel spy. This could be it."

Still, Maeve didn't look convinced. "I guess. Ambrosia's too soft-hearted for that sort of game though. And I guess, if we have to suspect everyone, Luna's got the composure to be the spy— oh, yes, I remember she asked about leaving policy. You were there, Miss Chi?"

Gemima nodded. "At the back of the room, just doing some sewing."

"Didn't even notice you." Her cheeks went a little red. "Er, not that you're like, invisible, or anything—"

"Was there any follow-up?" Ji-Yu interrupted with a frown. "Any at all?"

Maeve paused to think. "Come to think of it, I guess she _has_ been a little off for a while."

"Really?" Roy prodded. "How so?"

"We have our cards and wine evenings in the Women's Room, did you know?" She powered on despite Roy's headshake. "She's just been joining us less often. I asked if she was okay once, but she just gave me this vague _I don't want to talk about it_ look. I just figured she had some things going on and if she wanted to talk about it, she would when she was ready."

"I want to add something," said Rudy. "After I talked to her maids about her behaviour, they promised to keep an eye out for me, and one of them found me the other day. She caught Lady Bellini-Torres crying."

It hung in the air, heavy and exposed like a slab of raw meat. _Crying, Luna?_ Roy's chest shrivelled at the thought.

"Why?"

Rudy shrugged. "The maid was dismissed immediately after. Lady Bellini-Torres hasn't mentioned it since, and they both pretend like it never happened."

"Perhaps she isn't so fond about her position anymore," Ji-Yu mumbled bitterly.

He hated that he had to consider that as a possibility, but for now, he put the thought of her tears behind him. "Why now, though? Let's say she is the spy. Why wouldn't she have tried to leave before now?"

"She may have succeeded," said Ji-Yu. "Outside the palace, we can't monitor anyone. The tunnel network below leads to several locations outside the grounds, and it wasn't as heavily guarded until recent events because not many people know of them. It's a maze to navigate, and many routes are sealed off, but anyone with time and the right motivation could find their way in and out. They serve as our emergency exits, after all. Lady Bellini-Torres may just find trusting our naïveté for a way out easier than risking capture."

Right. That made him feel tons better.

"So," said Ji-Yu, "she might very well come to you to ask, if she hasn't already made up her mind. I'm still not ruling out Anamarie Bellini-Torres as a potential suspect either."

"I contacted her recently yesterday to discuss Calgary oil prices," said Gemima. "Her family seemed well, when I politely asked."

If Luna was saddened by anything, it wasn't her family. Part of Roy, part that sickened him, wished so badly it was family trouble and nothing more. Not some secret that could lead to the end of his life.

"And Ambrosia?" Ji-Yu prompted.

Maeve scratched her head. "Can't think of anything. Since the dinner she's been a little aloof, but…" she winced, looking at Roy, "you remember her mother, right?"

Roy snorted. "Regrettably."

"Yeah. I don't think they get along very well. The banquet shook her up. The whole night, when you weren't there, Ambrosia only talked to me."

It probably reminded her what she had waiting for her at home if she lost the Selection.

Maeve bounced between feet. "You think her mom is a rebel, too?"

"Since Skye… we're not discounting anything."

"Do we have any report from the guards, Officer Durante?" Ji-Yu didn't bother turning to face him, hands straying to her belly.

Durante, this time, kept his eyes on the corridor beyond, but his focus on them. "I'm afraid not, Your Majesty. With the guard force stretched thin between patrol, escorts and protecting the tunnels, it's become increasingly difficult to maintain the Elite's positions at all time."

Ji-Yu sounded tired. "Still ignoring protocol?"

"Still ignoring protocol, ma'am."

She sighed. "I'd like an update regardless about the Elite's movements. If any of them go anywhere strange, I want to know."

Durante rubbed his neck. "I made sure to find out about Ladies Bellini-Torres and Nichols, and none of the guards have reported unusual movement. Aside from that, it's the same as before. Lady Daugherty has been frequenting the gym and the gardens beyond the wall, if that's of any use."

"Probably to do with her climbing trees," Roy said, jerking a thumb back at the Board. "Not out of character for her."

"You don't think she could be climbing trees to get a signal, or something?" asked Maeve. "If you can't monitor any of us beyond palace grounds, and Cami technically goes outside palace grounds…"

"Yeah, we thought of that," Roy said, a little smirk crowning his lips. "I think she was doing it just to satisfy an urge to look at pretty buildings, though."

Maeve barked a laugh. "She's always hunched over blueprints."

Ji-Yu cleared her throat. "If that's all, then I suppose this portion of the meeting is done."

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"This portion?"

"Yes," she said. "I thought perhaps we could discuss some rebel activity, to see if there was any correlation of movement between the spy and the rebels."

Nausea rolled inside his chest. They'd spent so long talking about the spy, sometimes it was easy to forget they were playing against the other side of the chessboard.

"The Southern Rebels have garnered a lot of support recently, mostly from poorer castes," Gemima said. "We had to send special patrols to guard the perimeter of the local town hall in San Diego, in Sonage. There's been a wave of new riots there."

Roy had not seen the rebel attacks first hand, but San Diego was only across the border between Angeles and Sonage, and with Los Angeles itself close to the border, the palace grounds weren't that far away either. He could drive there, if he wanted. His stomach turned to stone.

Ji-Yu's hands grasped at the armrest. "This is why it's imperative we form some strategies of our own. This spy, whoever she is, is feeding almost directly to the rebels, and we'll need to come up with some sort of plan to throw them off."

Skye's words echoed in his head. _It's about the people who will always suffer at the bottom, and the arrogance of those that live at the top._ His family's arrogance – their wealth and power, squandered on a small minority. The rich stayed rich, and the poor stayed poor, and Roy had to wonder, was doing anything about the spy going to change that?

Would he inherit the crown of a country in flames?

He swallowed the thought until it was buried deep in his head. Focus on the spy. That was most important right now.

But after they found the spy. What then? What did they do? The rebels were a problem a long time coming, long before Roy even knew of their existence.

"How…" He stumbled over the question before it even formed properly in his head. "How long have the rebels been active? Really?"

The question threw everyone off-guard. Ji-Yu exchanged a confused look with Gemima before facing him.

"A long time."

"How long?"

Her shoulders tightened. "First known awareness of their existence occurred during your great-grandmother's time, but they gained clout… during your grandmother's reign."

Of course it had. Why wasn't he surprised? Ji-Yu, Sashi, and Clancy can't have been the only people to notice how horrible she was, how terribly she yielded her power.

Diantha's laugh echoed in his head, and he forced it away like a banished ghoul.

"Right," he said, remembering he couldn't talk about it with the others present. "Sorry. I guess I was… just trying to grasp a timeline of events, here."

"What matters is the present and the future," said Ji-Yu. "We're pulling all our resources together in case of a possible attack. Security predicts one is imminent."

He nearly choked. " _Imminent?"_

"Yes. Which is why we need to be prepared. Remain vigilant." She rose from her chair, though a flash of pain crossed her face. "Our security detail is hard at work to protect us, don't worry."

"Aren't we doing anything to _stop_ the attack? Pacify the rebels?"

Ji-Yu pressed her lips into a hard, grim line. "We're doing everything we can, Roy. The guards and officers will protect us. I think this will do for today."

He heard the croaking dismissal in her voice. This was a hard subject for her, too difficult to bear in such a vulnerable state, but it didn't answer his question – the real one, pressing like a ton weight on his mind.

How did they stop the threat of the Southern Rebels for good?

He bit back the need to ask more, question more. "Okay. Rudy and I will prepare for the social in the Women's Room. Maeve, you're free to go."

The rebel talk had clearly disturbed Maeve enough, that her pinpoint irises, locked onto the Board, finally snapped back to attention. "Oh. Right. I'll meet you two in there."

She scampered out, ahead of the queen. Ji-Yu only flickered a hand for Gemima to go on ahead, and that pool of dread in Roy's stomach expanded until it was drowning his insides.

Ji-Yu loosed a breath like she'd been holding it the whole time. "I can't believe you told the mouthiest of your Selected about the spy."

"She's not that mouthy," Roy said, but even he knew it was a lie.

"It does beg the question though, with you updating the Board to include potential winners of the Selection, whether you still consider her a candidate."

His throat tightened. He'd been avoiding thinking about it, too, since he was forced to tell her about the Board. Her being able to see his lovey-dovey feelings… why was he okay with that?

He rubbed his hands, unable to look at his mother. "I… don't know."

"I know that face," she said. "You can't avoid it. I'm sure she's thinking about it too."

At the point there were at now, Maeve was a firm friend, albeit with moments of adorableness. Could it become something else?

Sherlock's advice drifted back into his head. _I think about whether I want to kiss them or not – and not just kiss them, you know, but_ kiss _them._ He could barely picture it with Maeve, but even so, his heart raced at the thought.

Maybe. Right now, his head was too messy to fish for any concrete feelings beneath.

"I'll talk about it with her another time," he said. "Rudy and I need to prepare for the social."

Ji-Yu fixed him an intense look, only for a moment. "Very well. Enjoy your day."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees when she left. Sighing, Roy ran a hand through his hair and gestured for Rudy to prepare a suit. Rudy wisely did not comment on it either, and the pair worked in silence to redress Roy into something more appropriate. Something that wasn't already stained with sweat.

"We really shouldn't bother being so official," Rudy said, adjusting the collar on Roy's new pinstripe suit, with a double-breasted jacket. "These elaborate dresses and suits."

"I want to make a good impression on them as well, you know."

"I meant because I'll be in my liveries, Roy," he chided. "Everyone's going to show me up." He laughed, but it suffocated soon after.

Roy winced. "Are you really that nervous?"

"Yes."

It was hard for Roy not to be nervous, too.

"Does it help knowing you'll be my cherished sounding board? Because girls confuse me?"

Rudy snorted. "Oh yes, because clearly, I am the expert on women here." He paused, his fingers itching to work but halting like broken machines. "If we discover the spy, what then? What do we do? I just don't feel like we have a clear game plan of our next steps."

So he wasn't the only one.

Rudy observed Roy one last time, occasionally leaning forwards to dispatch a stray piece of lint. "We need to consider something bigger."

"Like the Day of Dates? That didn't exactly work."

"It didn't get the chance too," Rudy countered. "We don't know if Skye and the rebels would've attacked you at the Davenport Sports Resort, because it was interrupted. Remember?"

"Like I can forget. You think we should do something similar?"

"Yes. We need an advantage. We need a strategy to counter them."

It was food for thought. Right now, they had little more than a vestige's worth of leads, and if what Ji-Yu said was right, about an imminent attack, they didn't have long to consider a plan that could unveil the spy and save them at the same time.

"We'll bring it up with Mother," he said. "Considering how unsuccessful our last few attempts to find the spy have been, I don't know whether she'll consider it seriously or not."

It settled between them. Not the best encouragement for Rudy when on his way to meet the Elite for the first proper time, but Roy didn't have the heart to make or break the conversation.

For another time, then. Another time.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The Elite were already waiting when Roy and Rudy entered the Women's Room, curtsying deeply as the doors opened. He'd notified them about a small social to happen in the late morning, early afternoon. Even with the hint that it was small, not at all worth time and effort of propriety, all of them had nonetheless come in lace apparel and billowing skirts.

"Announcing the presence of His Royal Highness, Prince Roy," said the attendant, "and Rudolf Bez—"

" _RUDY!"_ Rudy screeched, voice frayed like a worn carpet. "Just _Rudy_ , is fine."

The girls dipped again anyway. Rudy's brow creased – he probably wasn't used to being addressed so formally, either. Shown deference by women of much higher caste and status.

The doors shut, and the pair stepped into the room. The air was thick with the scent of perfume. "Ahem, good morning again, everyone," Roy said, hoping to recover from Rudy's outburst. He gestured besides him. "This is my valet, Rudy."

Katrina had also come dressed in her finest tulle, this one adorned with dusk rose flowers and plunging at the neck. Her eyes narrowed on Rudy. "When you said you were hosting a _social,_ Fitzroy, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Rudy's my best friend. I just wanted you all to meet him in a more proper fashion," Roy clarified. "He doesn't know you very well and you don't know him very well. I consult him with all of my problems, including the Selection, and he makes frequent contributions to, er, the Board. So, here's your chance to get to know him."

Rudy gulped, hand pressing to his chest. He bowed his head slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Maeve, of course, stepped forwards first, offering a hand to Rudy. For everyone's sake, they decided to keep Maeve's involvement with the Board a complete secret, and it was just another to add to his list of lies. As if she could taste the tension roiling in Rudy's chest, she used her free thumb to indicate the lounge area.

"Nice to meet ya' officially, Rudy." She winked. "You must know all of Roy's dirt if you're his valet and bestie."

Roy and Maeve made themselves comfortable. Rudy, on the other hand, sat on the edge of the sofa, hands dithering on his lap. "You're not wrong," he supplied, eyes darting around. "I have to handle his dirt, too."

Maeve's trademark booming laughter echoed throughout the room. To Roy's surprise, Ambrosia took the armrest next to him – Rudy's back went rigid at the movement. Her high-collared dress flowed down her shins in a river of pale blue satin.

"You must have a close relationship," she said, more to Roy, but he didn't miss the valet swallow.

Anyone would pin his erratic body language to nerves about meeting new people, but Roy knew better. He eased a smile onto his face and directed it at his male friend.

"He does, but he loves it. I just make it all worth his while."

Rudy fixed him a deadpan expression and muttered, "You are the lone beacon of happiness in my apparently small and worthless life, Your Highness."

"Sarcasm! Attitude!" Elise chirruped. She was standing behind Roy, leaning heavily against the sofa back, her long sleeves brushing against Roy's shoulder. "He definitely needs it to keep Roy in check."

Roy scoffed. "He does not _keep me in check."_

"I most certainly do," Rudy said, affronted. "And I don't even get paid extra for it."

Maeve, Ambrosia and Elise laughed.

Rudy cleared his throat. "Would you like to hear the unfortunate tale of how His Highness and I met? It's quite the unique story involving cupcakes and shoelaces."

"Do tell! Do tell!" Elise leapt over the sofa to nestle between Roy and Rudy, though far closer to Roy's side. Her arm brushed up against him.

His instinct was to bristle, but he forced himself to relax. Elise might be the spy, she might not be. Right now, there was no way to tell, and he shouldn't get worked up about it. It wouldn't exactly inspire Rudy if Roy kept his heart closed.

He eased up, throwing an arm over the back, to allow Elise to sidle closer and closer if she so chose. She took advantage of it as Rudy spoke, shifting her position and inching closer and closer, Roy's arm blossoming with heat. All the girls funnelled in to hear Rudy regale them with an age-old tale of their first encounter.

"Wow, Roy was such a brat!" Maeve said when he was finished, turning to face Roy. "I can't believe you made three valets quit!"

"I was young." Roy shrugged – the motion jostled Elise as well, she was close enough to lean her head on his shoulder. "What can I say? I was picky with my cupcakes, and none of those valets were up to standard."

Camilla's amusement was like a bright star after endless dark nights. "Do you still demand things off Rudy like you did when you were twelve?"

"No," Roy said, at the same time Rudy said, "Oh, god, yes."

The group laughed. Roy didn't miss the smile – a real smile – spread across Rudy's face. The conversations diverged and split, Rudy animatedly chatting with Ambrosia and Camilla to one side, and with Lilly, Eulalia, Katrina and Maeve to another, and Luna lingering between both, Roy and Elise were left alone.

His heart beat so fast. This closeness was nothing he'd felt before. At least, not for a long time.

But Elise split apart, face going red. "Sorry, I… I was taking a lot of your space."

"T-That's okay," he said. "I don't mind."

Her throat bobbed, but there was no sign of nerves on her face, matte with a light dusting of make-up. Effortless in making her appear flawless. "Actually, I wondered if you'd like to spend some more time with me."

A short hush fell on the others. They'd heard. Conversations continued like nothing had happened, but their ears had tuned to them, waiting for his answer. Was being bold going to work for Elise?

"Like a date?"

"Like a casual date, yeah. If you want." She beamed, hope sparkling in her eyes.

"I'd love to, perhaps once I've gone on a date with Ambrosia," he offered. He needed to organise that soon, before Aunt Mimi took it upon herself to do it for him. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?"

Was that red on her cheeks? "Okay. I've been hoping to visit the local libraries in Los Angeles, you see, and I thought maybe you'd like to come with me."

Before he could do anything, Elise raced to the little bookshelf by the windows and pulled out an old, dusty tome that had to be hundreds of years old. She plonked down beside him, reclaiming that gap for herself.

"Is that from our passage library?" he said, thinking about the book's age.

"Yes!" she chirruped. "It's one of the original printings of Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._ They have preserved copies of the originals in the public library – not to borrow or anything, but to view." She hugged the book to her chest, eyes dousing. "Such a tragic tale that both Romeo and Juliet die in the end."

"Spoilers."

She raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me you know the story of _Romeo and Juliet?"_

He winked. "Of course, I'm teasing. Never read it though." He cut across her before she could respond. "Do you… go there, often? To the tunnels?"

At this, her smile turned nervous. "Yes. To get books. And explore. Sometimes. Not often. Why do you ask?"

"The Shell Wing," he said it before he could stop himself. "You know a secret passage there."

Eyes flashing, Elise held up her hands in a surrendering pose. "I-I swear, I've never been there. Never went up further when I realised where it was going. I know it's banned!"

But she'd told other people about it.

"Do you use a guard escort?"

She nodded. "I have a lovely officer called Kidd. He's a little… er, bumbling though, and sometimes he loses me when I'm wandering around."

Ah, Kidd. Their short and brief encounter to follow Levinia Lefray from the palace to the night club was an experience he'd never forget. Assigning him to ever-curious Elise was probably not the smartest move.

Not surprised at Kidd's clumsiness, Roy went to reply, but Camilla made a scandalous gasp – it snagged his attention.

"I can't believe you and Riley made out on Rudy's bed!"

His cheeks burst alight, and he glared at Rudy. "Are you going to tell them all of my embarrassing moments?"

Rudy huffed. " _Your_ embarrassing moments? Can you imagine how humiliated I felt when I saw you two plastered to one another on _my_ bed of the tour bus?"

"Listen, we were hormonal teenagers after an epic night touring the country, and we didn't think you'd mind!"

"Of course I minded! I had to sleep there!" Rudy shuddered. "I could still smell your cologne on my pillow!"

The girls burst out with laughter again. At least someone was enjoying it. Contrast to mere minutes before, Rudy was revelling in their hooked expressions. Sighing, Roy excused himself to join him, Ambrosia and Camilla in their merriment.

"You can't talk about anything else but my cringey past?" he said.

"On the contrary," Rudy countered, eyes glinting, "talking about your cringey past is what amuses me the most."

"I think it's interesting, hearing about your cringey past," said Camilla, leaning back to relax in her sky blue chiffon. "It's a nice reminder that even princes aren't exempt from the awkward teenage years."

"Oh absolutely, His Highness was not exempt. Did I tell you about his goth phase when he was fourteen? He dyed his hair black and cut his bangs to fall over his eyes. Everything in his closet was black, too: shirts, suits, ties, even cufflinks." Rudy shuddered again. "He thought he looked so edgy."

Roy's cheeks puffed with indignation as Camilla and Ambrosia laughed again.

"Can I ask about the hair?" Ambrosia's hands were folded onto her lap, like that of a placid doll. "You had your hair long for so many years, and Mister Rudy, yours is a little long too…"

Rudy scoffed. "His Highness copied me. One hundred per cent."

"I did not!" Roy huffed. "I just suited long hair!"

"I don't blame him," the valet steamrolled on. "He was thirteen when he finally had some input over his appearance, and I was his most important role model."

Camilla snorted. "Or the lone beacon of happiness in his small and worthless life."

Rudy nearly spat from laughing so hard. Ambrosia chuckled too, hand going to her mouth. Roy passed a glare to Camilla.

"Touché."

"Thank you, Lady Daugherty," Rudy said. "It does feel good to have someone on my side for once."

Before they could dog-pile him again, Roy stuck out his tongue and moved to another group. Katrina, as usual, was sulking to Lilly and Eulalia, expression as dour as the words coming out of her mouth.

"—think there'd be some more eye candy around here."

Roy furrowed his eyebrows. "Er, what did I just walk into?"

"Katrina thought a social meant you were bring more of your rich, male friends," said Eulalia, wincing as she signed. "For her to, er, look at."

"No, _Lilly_ would be looking," said Katrina, airing her hands. " _I_ would be seeking. I'm not in the running for Fitzroy's hand, after all."

"Thank goodness," Roy muttered under his breath. "What's wrong with Rudy?"

"He's just… not what I wanted."

Lilly signed in a dark green gown. Her hair was down, curled so it only showed a peek of her pearl earrings.

Eulalia translated wryly, " _Rudy isn't a buff hunk, is what she means."_

This was a weird conversation. "Well, not that it matters," he said to Katrina, "because you're not his type."

"I'm everyone's type."

"He's gay."

"… I'm most people's type." She flicked a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. "Don't you have any other friends, Fitzroy? For me? And Eulalia?"

 _More like just for her._ He scratched his head. "I have a lot of acquaintances. Not so many close friends, though. You missed your chances with my cousins."

"Boo," she remarked, bracing the back of her hand on her forehead. If she fainted, he wasn't catching her.

Eulalia held her hands up, surrender style, before she signed. "Thank you for, er, looking out for me?"

"Roy?"

Before he could extract himself from what was obviously a girl's conversation, Luna appeared from the side. He hadn't seen her move towards them, hadn't seen her even talking to anyone today. Her face was its usual mask of aloofness.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, monotone. "Can I, er, talk to you?"

The Board meeting from earlier rammed itself straight to the front of his thoughts. "What about?" he asked.

"Just… something."

Katrina waved dismissively. "Please take him away. He was so terrible to get my hopes up."

Roy thankfully removed himself from the Women's Room and into the hallway outside behind Luna. The sudden quiet fell on him like a thick mist, hazy and strange, restless and secretive. Just like she had been described. _Crying._

"What's wrong?" he whispered, and he scrounged to appear innocent. "Is this about Estelle Portside?"

"Nothing's wrong." Luna sucked in her cheeks. "I didn't come to talk about her either, as surprising as her appearance at the Convicting was. I actually wanted to ask if I could take a night off from the palace tomorrow."

Jackpot. As his insides squeezed tightly, he feigned surprise. "A night off?"

"Yes. Just a few hours tomorrow evening. I can be back by midnight, next morning by the latest."

"Why?"

"It's…" She refused to meet his eyes. "A distant cousin of mine has invited me to his wedding reception."

Not a family sickness, but a family celebration. Would Anamarie care to mention this to Gemima? Surely if she knew Luna would need the night off for a wedding, she'd at least mention it casually?

"Sounds fun. Want a date?"

"No!" she burst out – her cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry. It's not like that. He… wants a private thing without any fanfare. Nothing would draw attention away from the married couple more than the prince and a Selected."

Any hurt was eclipsed by the terror mounting inside him. "That's okay, I give you permission anyway. I'll have Sashi arrange you transport. The airport, I presume?"

"Yes, it's in Calgary. Thank you."

"In that case, you can take our private jet."

"No, no," she said quickly. "No fanfare. Taking a private jet is about as extra as they come. I really don't want the paparazzi on my tail."

"You're… sure there's nothing more to it?"

Her shoulders tensed. "Why do you say that?"

"You seem…" he fished for a better word than _restless,_ "jumpy."

"I'm fine. I've never met him, and my extended family will be there, so…" She shrugged. "I guess I'm nervous." She fussed over her golden corset, the skirt beaded with gilded butterflies. "I should start thinking about packing."

Resisting the urge to ask more, he let Luna head back to her quarters without saying anything. So Ji-Yu was right, Luna had bit the bullet and asked for his permission. She was supposed to be the composed and aloof one, not… whatever that was, not restless nor secretive nor crying her eyes out.

Why?

Rebels?

Thoughts blotted, he stepped back mutely into the Women's Room. Rudy perked instantly at his return, eyes questioning. _What happened?_ The girls were surrounding him, bugging him, but not even they could recognise the faraway look in his gaze.

"Roy, Roy!" Elise called, cutting across the fanfare. "Now that you're back, we can put to rest something that has haunted us all from day one. Mister Rudy," she faced him, a guise of seriousness, "does Roy… have abs?"

Ambrosia, Maeve and Lilly erupted into silly giggles. Camilla snort-laughed, trying to cover her mouth as she did.

"Aren't they drawn on?" she teased.

Ambrosia piped, "His six pack is real, right?" with a wide grin.

He didn't have the heart to even let the comments faze him.

Rudy was completely nonplussed for a moment, like the train of his thoughts had crashed at the nearest station, but quickly practiced a smile.

"Er, yes, I can see why that would haunt you daily." He sat back and wove his fingers together. "As a long-time friend of His Highness', I can confidently say, that the truth is—"

"I think we've had enough fun for today!" Roy shot across, grabbing Rudy's arm to drag him away. He shot Maeve a desperate look. "Maeve, can you come with me for a second? I'll see the rest of you all later!"

"Noooooo!" the other girls whined. Maeve rose proudly, missing his expression entirely, and smugly sauntered out behind.

No one stopped them as they left the room.

"Do I get to learn the truth about the Ab Conspiracy? Wait, do I get to _see_ your abs? Oh!" She rubbed her hands together. "The others are going to be so jealous!"

Rudy shook his head. "You went to talk to Luna."

At that, Maeve's expression dropped. "Oh no."

"Yeah. Sorry, we're not here to talk about my six pack, which, by the way, is completely real." Even that didn't lift his spirits. "She did it. She asked to leave." He quickly recounted the conversation. "Do you think she's lying about the wedding?"

"Pffft, easy fix." Maeve whipped her phone from her pocket. It was an old thing with a cracked screen, but she glided her fingers expertly over the keys nonetheless. "We check her social media."

After a minute of Roy and Rudy leering around her arm, Maeve shook her head, frowning. "Not a winkle of a wedding mention on her Instagraph or her Chirper. Can't find anything information on her brother's either. But, that don't mean nothing." Her lips mashed together. "I promise you, Luna is the most real out of all of us— like, not like we're all aliens, and she's the only human or anything, but she is what you get… you get what I mean?"

"You lost me at aliens." He massaged his temple with one hand. "Why would she be crying and restless over a wedding?"

"Perhaps she's nervous about the impending nuptials, or reuniting with her immediate family?" said Rudy.

"She never mentioned a wedding at all to you, Maeve?"

"No…"

"Don't you think she'd talk about it when asking about leaving policy? If it was a legitimate reason?" he challenged, mind racing. "And what about the fact that she risked asking me so late? Wedding invites go out six weeks in advance. She had six weeks to ask for the night off, but she's only been more detached recently."

It hung in the air.

Still, Maeve pocketed her phone with vigour. "Luna is as distant as the moon, Roy. It's probably really private for her, this wedding thing. Maybe she's stressed."

Or maybe she wasn't going to a wedding at all. He let the thought guide him, hone his suspicion. Maeve might not believe Luna was spy-worthy, but Roy knew the rebels better than anyone, and if they could find someone to keep her cool as well as Luna did and insert her into the Selection, they would.

And if Luna was lying about going to a wedding… where was really she going?

He knew one thing as he dismissed Maeve and Rudy, and returned to his office alone.

He had to follow her to find out.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

The sun peaked and set without fanfare, and Roy didn't see Luna for the rest of day. She wasn't even there at dinner, instead choosing to forgo socialisation and have her meal in her room. Roy took the opportunity to inform Ji-Yu about their conversation, and she agreed that something had to be done.

Someone had to find out where she was going.

"Whilst I agree with you, Your Highness, that Luna may be hiding something," said Rudy the next morning, yanking aggressively on Roy's stubborn shirt cuffs, "is following her really a good idea?"

Roy assumed a T-pose and tried not to fidget. Tonight he would join a small contingent of guards in pursuing Luna to see where she was going, his involvement so he could pacify anyone should they be caught and gain as much free access as possible. Ji-Yu had given him the go-ahead, so even if he changed his mind it was too late to turn back now.

"Why _isn't_ it a good idea?" he said. "Please. Enlighten me."

"That sounded sarcastic, but I'm going to try anyway." Rudy evened the sleeves and stood back. "Because you have a terrible track record when it comes to following Selected for reasons to do with the spy."

"Something good always comes out of it. Levinia opened up to me, and Camilla and I bonded."

"One of those situations got you caught by the paparazzi, the other got your leg injured. Neither of them helped your search."

"In fairness, Camilla is still suspect. And that's only two examples."

"Out of two!" Rudy sighed. "Though I do suspect the purpose of her leave, I don't think it has anything to do with the spy, and I really don't think you should go yourself, even if you have to for the sake of appearances and access."

She was coming back tonight, whatever early hour it might be. No hanging around, and maybe that was why. Every one of his current Selected bar Elise and Lilly harboured some unresolved tension with their parental figures, and Luna was no exception – if she was reluctant to see her mother, Roy couldn't blame her.

He tried to act light-hearted, and smirked. "Worried about me?"

Instead of double-checking his work, Rudy sank onto Roy's bed, head tilted.

"I just think this ridiculous scheming is going to end badly, whether that means your relationship with her suffering, or something worse…" He shut his eyes for a moment. "Which is why… I want to go with you."

Roy double-took. "You what?"

"If it will prevent you from doing anything foolish," Rudy said with a stern voice, "then I want to go with you. I've already asked Her Majesty, and she has agreed that it's for the best."

"Okay there, Dad," Roy joked. "I'm nearly twenty years old, you know."

"Yet with the mind of a two-year old," Rudy quipped back, completely deadpan. "I'm serious though, Roy. You need someone to look out for you precisely because you're a prince—"

" _The_ prince," Roy corrected smugly.

"—and you'll at least need someone who can read you better than a children's book. To make sure the situation is safe." Rudy tilted his head. "So, what do you say?"

"Yes, yes, you can come. There's a small guard tagging along too, Durante included, so… not saying you'll be redundant or anything…"

"The more people, the better."

"All right." He gestured to Rudy's clothes. "You're going to need to wear something covert. All black. Pants, shirts, hoodies—"

"I'm sure fourteen-year-old you would be rejoicing."

Roy decided to ignore the jab. "Definitely cover the hair, too. It's like a neon billboard."

His hands flew to his hair, blushing. "I-It's not that bright," he protested, but the sentiment faltered when Roy winced. "Oh, fine. I will make this one sacrifice."

Someone knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" called Roy.

Ji-Yu strode in without waiting.

"I could've been naked, you know," Roy muttered.

Ignoring the comment, she waved Rudy out, and he bowed his head briefly before escaping. "I'm sorry to interrupt your morning." Her muscles slacked, dropping whatever façade she'd so cleverly sculpted for that steeled expression of unforgiveness. In its place was one of total, inner fatigue. "I came as fast as I was able."

"What's this about?"

Ji-Yu searched him for any discontent. "In the early hours of the morning, we caught a rebel snooping around the palace."

His insides seized immediately like he'd been frozen in a glacier.

"What? How did they get in?"

"I suspect through the secret passageways."

"I thought you said they were guarded?"

"The tunnels are endless. We can't possibly guard every single path. This rebel, she knew what she was doing. Nonetheless, we confined her to the Shell Wing only to find out she wasn't just some nameless, faceless miscreant." Ji-Yu hushed her voice. "It was Robin Acketeer."

The ground seemed to shift. " _What?"_ Roy said, too stunned to say much else.

"That's not even the worst part," said Ji-Yu. "She's refusing to talk, unless… it's to you."

* * *

 **A/N:** snickety snack, looks like acketeer is back! Hope you enjoyed it!

Like last chapter, this chapter was very different a week ago, but this version is much, much better. I might have to slow weekly updates because of rewrites and all that jazz. I'm like five chapters ahead writing-wise, but I just want to make sure I can polish before it goes up. We'll see how next week goes!

That origin story of Roy and Rudy's friendship can be found in the first chapter of Select Few, if you haven't read it already. ;) Aaaaand I'm going to try and post bigger snippets on my Pinterest, so if you want a peak into the chapters I'm working on right now, go check it out!

Thank you for favouriting, following, reviewing and reading along as always, friends.

~ GWA

NTT: "You look like a gothic metrosexual hipster."


	57. Follow Ups

Manacles chained Robin Acketeer to the desk, chafing against her tawny skin. Her black hair was plaited like it normally had been, thrown over her shoulder with the odd curl straying free, and her clothes were dark and form-fitting with a mask that concealed her face pulled down to her neck.

Prowler of the night, her ensemble would've screamed. Except that chipper smile plastered on her face, as sunny as a midday sky, as if nothing had changed and she was still a guard. Once, it was part of her character to tolerate. Now it was insufferable.

Roy gulped down his nerves. He'd agreed to speak with Acketeer, marched from his bedroom immediately to do so, but time slowed to an unbearable pace, forcing him to confront every moment in front of her for what seemed like eternity.

He hadn't even spoken to her yet. Delacroix was in the interrogation chamber, in a last-minute attempt to squeeze information from her. She wasn't budging. Roy's time was nigh.

"—smaller punishment should you choose to speak with me instead of His Highness," Delacroix was saying.

Acketeer shrugged, and the whole movement jangled her chains. "No thanks. I want to talk to His Highness, please."

Ji-Yu crossed her arms. "The nerve."

Acketeer had always acted freely, invited or not. It seemed nothing changed that, whether she was a royal guard or rebel captured.

"You don't have to do this," Ji-Yu said, cutting through Roy's thoughts. "We're going to keep her here anyway, and she'll talk eventually. It'll spare you from having to face her."

But Acketeer wasn't easily fazed. They could keep her until next year, and waste their time, money and resources doing it for all the silence she'd give back.

"No, I'll do it. We don't exactly have much time left. She can't be worse than Jordan Iscariot."

When Delacroix finally gave in and exchanged with Roy, he realised… this was much worse.

The door slammed shut behind him. For a moment, he was frozen. Nothing had changed, not a damn thing. Peppy and cheerful, she smiled at him and gestured to the chair opposite like old friends meeting each other after years apart. It boiled his blood that she could do something like that, like she had the power here. There wasn't even the ash of anger in her eyes, compared to how it was threaded into Roy's mind like wide, bloody stitches.

"Sit, please. It's weird that you're standing there."

"Don't tell me what to do," he snapped.

They both knew he was going to sit anyway. Undermined already. Why did he open his mouth? He sat down and tried to relax, but staring into the face of his enemy, his betrayer, it was hard not to glare and clench his fists and want to swing for a punch.

"First things first," Roy said, trying to reclaim some power. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"You know what. Don't be pedantic, Acketeer."

She looked at him like he was the party pooper to her children's party clown. "I can't betray anyone whose side I'm not on in the first place."

"You acted like you were. You pretended and fooled everyone around you. So why?"

"Because it was my job." She cosied herself. "During my training to become a guard at the academy, I met Elizabeth Davenport at one of her local sport's resorts." Elizabeth Davenport – Newton's Wife. "She showed me the true cruelty of the monarchy, that becoming a guard was going to aid a terrible cause. But I needed the money, so I continued my training, and eventually I was assigned to outposts in Carolina. The rebels helped me transfer here where my cover was more useful to them. Been here for two years."

 _Two years._ And no one suspected a thing.

The image of her standing over Durante's unconscious body flashed in his head. He fought to push it away before it became too vivid.

"Not once did you think that maybe the people here cared about you? Saw you as a friend?" Neither Durante nor Rudy had trusted her since she used their secret to worm her way into Alex and Barney's favour, but she hadn't personally provoked Roy or anyone else enough to hate her.

Until now, at least.

Acketeer shrugged. "All these people, all the guards and maids and butlers, you and Queen Ji-Yu and King Merrick – it didn't matter if you were _nice_ to me. You continue to support a broken system, and that's enough to show me that no matter how good you claim to be, you're all still selfish on the inside."

"Sounds like Elizabeth Davenport groomed you and used you to further her own agenda."

"She opened my eyes. Why is it you scoff when you claim she groomed me, when you've been groomed your entire life with excessive wealth and power that you wouldn't dream of giving up for the sake of equality?"

"It isn't as simple as handing money over. That's what you rebels fail to understand."

"Why not? Please, explain what I'm not seeing here."

"Our society operates on a fundamental hierarchical structure. There are always going to be people who benefit the most, and people who benefit the least. I'm sorry I was born into where I am."

"And are you sorry about the people who are born into homelessness? To the Eights who starve to death on the streets? To parents who are forced to steal clothes and food for their children, and are then punished for it by law?"

Finally, there was some fuel in her voice. She could get angry when she was arguing a point with little counterpoints. God, he hated how right she sounded.

"You support an ugly legacy," she continued. "The Southern Rebels were reborn during your grandmother's reign, and by the looks of things, they'll continue to oppose you long into yours."

His heart thumped at Diantha's mention. He glanced at the two-way mirror and murmured, "What do you know about my grandmother?"

"Janice Schreave chopped the wood, but Diantha Schreave lit the fire. She might as well have tattooed _enemy_ on her forehead for all she opposed the common people. If you weren't a royal family zealot, it was easy to see she never cared about anyone but her own, small group of rich, white sycophants and socialites."

 _Bigot. Racist._ Just like he suspected, he was paying for her disgrace, and of course the rebels knew of her despicable rule. Darkness crawled over his vision in specks, mewling for attention like the far-off howl of a wolf.

"Whatever my ancestors did has nothing to do with me. We have many systems in place to help the people—"

"That aren't good enough, nor are on a grand enough scale," Acketeer cut across. "Wake up, Your Highness. You live the life of luxuries. Others don't even get the necessities."

His pondered ideas rushed back to him before he could help himself. After they discovered the spy, what then? What did they do? How could it stave off the rebel attack? How could he protect his family, friends and country from anarchy, disruption and death?

What the Southern Rebels wanted was a complete removal of what Janice and Diantha had set into motion. Abolish the castes. Abolish the monarchy.

His ancestors had done it, once. Both the castes and monarchy were reinstated from a time when neither existed in the same capacity. It took a few years, nearly a lifetime for some of the kings and queens on his family tree, but it was done.

And there was peace.

Talking to Acketeer now, and recalling the conversations with Skye, Newton's Wife, and Walter Wolanski himself, it seemed the train had left the station, and it had no intention of stopping. Their methods were extreme – exterminate the sovereign, rally the poor to a faux call of arms – but was what they wanted really… unjust?

He balled his fists against his wishes, pushing the thoughts out, again and again, even as they persistently tried to pluck his attention.

"If you snuck into my home just to teach me a lesson, consider it done. But I know that's not why you're here."

"Subtle subject change. You had me for a moment there."

He ignored her. "Why did you break in? What were you after?"

"I'm not going to tell you why I'm here." Acketeer sounded almost comically offended.

"So you broke into the palace for, what? A little Tom Clancy fun? A chat with old Roy?"

"It doesn't matter because I was caught."

"It matters to me. You must want something."

"So what if I did? You wouldn't give it to me."

He allowed himself the small privilege of grinning smugly. "You were caught, and that's that. But if you won't talk, we're done here. Have fun rotting in a cell for the rest of your life."

He stood to go, but then Acketeer said, "Skye is angry with you."

She spoke it with innocence. Just another subject to bring up in small talk. He spun on his heels.

"I don't give a rat's ass whether Skye is angry with me or not. She can rot too, for all I care."

"You're the last person to see her mother alive. The last person that counts, at least. She hasn't forget it."

He knew. Though he never once saw it, his mind wove an image of that bullet, sliding through Newton's Wife's head like a ribbon through air.

"It never would have come to that if you hadn't taken me hostage," he said quietly.

"Only the extreme works with your kind," she said. "And Skye will never forgive you for it. I lost a mentor, but she lost a mother."

He scoffed. "We all lost something that day. Get in line and take a number."

Acketeer actually rolled her eyes. "And what exactly did _you_ lose?"

He turned on his heel and rapped on the door.

"Hope."

The door crushed down behind him.

He expected to see Ji-Yu and Delacroix there, but instead a single figure was sitting in the lone steel chair, looking at him expectantly.

Merrick.

"Hello, son…" He rubbed the back of his head. "Can I… can I talk to you for a moment?"

His anger unfurled deeper into his bones. "Is it optional?"

Merrick stumbled. "Er, well, of course."

"Then no. You can't."

Merrick shot to stand, blocking the way out. "Wait, please. Let's just… talk."

He didn't wait for Roy to follow him out.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Merrick eventually redirected Roy to the greenhouse with him. Compared to the December chill, the heat inside was stifling enough for Roy to throw his suit jacket over his arm and roll up his sleeves. He looked like he was gearing for a fight, and maybe he was, depending on how this conversation would go.

Merrick, on the other hand, fidgeted with his hands. He halted at a moist fern plant, its leaves exploding from the centre like a green firework.

"I've had a lot of things to think about lately."

"Join the club."

"Please don't be difficult. I'm trying to parse this with you."

Roy snorted . "As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing to discuss. You made an irrational, emotional decision that jeopardised my relationship with my Selected, and then used it to punish me for your mistakes." He sharpened his gaze. "This is the exact reason why Mother decided against telling you about the spy, because she knew you'd go and do something like that."

"You're right. It was emotional and irrational. But it also sent a message about how far we're willing to go for the people we care about, and that's the most important thing." He faced Roy, contrite. "I'm sorry that I hurt you and the Selected. But one of them is trying to harm us, and I refuse to do nothing about it. As king, and as your _Appa."_

"Well, my _Appa_ would think things through before letting his emotions get the better of him."

"I'm not superhuman. Sometimes, I let my emotions run. Mistakes happen, no one is perfect. Least of all me." He sighed. "I don't want to fight with you, son. You are the last person I want to fight with. I'm tired of fighting, frankly."

Roy shook off a speck of remorse. "You brought it on yourself."

"Then I'm finishing it myself, too. I have been fighting rebels and bad politicians and people with ulterior agendas my whole life. I don't want to fight my family, too." He paused, searching Roy's expression for any sorrow. "I want to help with the spy."

That piqued Roy's interest. He watched Merrick through narrowed eyes. "Why the change of heart?"

"Well, I obviously can't convince your mother or you to change your mind. And if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." He pressed a palm to his chest. "I want to keep you safe. I want to protect you both."

"We've been doing just fine without you. We had a meeting yesterday, in fact."

Hurt crossed Merrick's face. "Yes, I… heard from your mother." He blinked away his pain. "You found out too late that Skye was the spy. The more heads there are, the better chance we have at parsing out a solution, and a strategy. You can use all the extra help you can get." He hesitated for a moment, then winked. "Though at least I know your mother can handle herself."

Roy resisted the urge to laugh, that remorse swelling. "Hah, hah."

"I'm serious! She could destroy us both into next Sunday, even pregnant!"

The baby had to influence his decisions, too. More of Merrick's involvement translated to less of Ji-Yu's, in his mind. He needed to protect his present and his future.

"I'm a black belt in jujitsu, in case you've forgotten," Roy ended up saying instead. "Taught by the woman that could destroy us both."

"Your black belt is probably collecting dust by now, son. She keeps mentioning that she should have a spar with you to make sure you're not forgetting everything." He laughed again, then whittled into silence. "I might not be able to kick butt, but I can still be useful. Please."

Begging, the clincher. He could come to the Board meetings regardless of whether they wanted him there or not, and there wouldn't be a damn thing they could do about it, and still, he was asking. Being polite. Roy smiled; it was a clever gesture, a manipulation technique, but it worked too well anyway.

"Fine, okay. But you have to stay cool. Don't lose your head."

"Absolutely." He patted Roy's shoulder. "I am sorry about everything."

"It's done already." His lips thinned, thinking about Regina and Avianna. "I guess it made my Selection easier."

"Six girls left. I can hardly believe it!"

They ambled back outside, Roy replacing his jacket, back to the palace.

"For a moment, when I found you and your mother consulting the Board for supposed Selection wisdom, I was upset," said Merrick. "I wondered why you hadn't asked me, since I was in the same position as you were now. Remember you can ask me about anything about it, and I'll do my best to help you."

"I know," said Roy. Wisdom from one prince to another about matters of the heart. More concerning things fought for space in his conscience. "What about Acketeer? What are we going to do about her?"

At that, Merrick frowned. "She didn't reveal anything substantial. Only wanted to rub in their policies. We'll try several more times to squeeze something from her and see if we can find out what exactly she was doing here."

"And if she never talks?"

"She will. They always do."

Another rebel sentenced to life.

Somehow the thought didn't comfort him.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

By evening, the sun had vanished from the tips of the horizon line, leaving Angeles to bathe in perfect darkness, the sky a canvas of mottled clouds and golden stars.

Rudy finalised the last of Roy's 'disguise', head to toe in black regalia, as promised. An oversized black hoodie drooped off his frame, matching black combat trousers and boots. To compare, Rudy was in a grey shirt, a charcoal cardigan, skinny jeans, and a shiny pair of loafers, topped with a newsboy cap and a ginormous pair of sunglasses. He looked pretty dapper as he did ridiculous.

Though he supposed Rudy had a reason to look eye-catching.

Durante's voice echoed on the other side of the door. "Sir, Lady Bellini-Torres is leaving promptly. It's time we prepare to leave as well."

At the garage, the air cool and chilling, two black SUVs had squeezed in next to Sashi's trademark flaming motorcycle, engines roaring and ready to go. The guard had come in identical wear to Roy – bulky dark shirts covering their bulletproof armour, dark caps to mask their faces.

Roy found Merrick crabbing to the assembled group, wrapped up in two coats and a puffy scarf. He smiled wanly at Roy's approach. "They're all wired up, briefed, and ready to go."

"No Mother?"

"Schreave 3.0 is being particularly twitchy tonight, so she's resting." He puffed up his chest. "I can handle these ordeals too, you know."

It was still strange talking to Merrick about their secret double life, wrong enough to cause his gut to squirm with every mention of _rebel_ and _spy._ They gave Roy a snug earpiece and tested it before jumping into the cars, one to follow directly behind as possible, the other to follow further back.

"Ready?" asked Roy.

"Yes. We're all prepared here." Merrick chewed his lip. "You know, five guards and a valet doesn't seem like a lot of protection. You can take the extra cars we have—"

" _Subtlety,_ Dad," Roy pressed. "Luna will catch on immediately if she sees a convoy pouring out behind her. It's just reconnaissance. I'll be fine."

Merrick pulled him in for a hug anyway.

"I know… I'd still worry if you were going around the corner to buy a sandwich." He let Roy go, smiling more broadly. "But you seem confident in yourself, so I know you're going to be okay. Good luck."

Oddly warmed, Roy followed Durante to their understated black executive car, a sleek four-wheeler with an inconspicuous coat of matte black paint. With Durante driving, Roy and Rudy were put in the back and the other guards would follow behind in the second car.

Last time Roy had done this, he was frazzled and frenzied, terrified Officer Kidd's pathetic lemon car couldn't keep up with Levinia's escort. Now they were prepared, ready, able – and still Roy's heart beat against his ribcage with the thrill. The fear. However unlikely it was she was the spy, there was still a part of him terrified to find out.

Durante's walkie-talkie buzzed; Luna's car had exited the gate, and Durante kicked the car into motion.

"To the airport, boys," said Roy.

They rolled out, Luna's car somewhere in the distance. GPS activated on the dashboard, tracking the location of her car. Rudy leant back, adjusting the seatbelt. "Are we flying to Calgary, too?"

"No. We have a guard to board her flight, and another to follow her on the ground." He grinned and pointed at Rudy's outfit. "You know I said to cover up, right? Not show off your fashion sense. You look like a gothic metrosexual hipster."

His cheeks warmed. "I didn't have much warning. These were the only clothes that didn't look ridiculous put together." He sniffled. "And for the record, metrosexuals are straight."

"There's nothing wrong with your fashion sense," said Durante. "Er, I mean, you know, because it's the city. No one will pay any attention to you…"

"They might when they see he's wearing sunglasses."

Rudy crossed his arms. "They're big enough to disguise my face and look inconspicuous, which is more than I can say for you, with nothing to cover yours."

"But I can do this." Roy covered his mouth with the scarf. " _Oooh, spooky."_

"Now you look like a discount ninja," retorted Rudy.

"Sorry, Rudy," Durante piped, laughing as he glanced between the road and the mirror. "His Highness' scarf makes more sense in this weather."

As they squabbled, Roy tuned out and sank into his leather chair to stare out the window, somehow chilled yet apprehensive at the same time. Buildings rose from the shaky grounds, lights blurred together, horns and cries pierced the Los Angeles air.

Her car stole down slip roads for the airport, and Roy began to release the tension in his shoulders. Rebels wouldn't make her go _all_ the way to Calgary to report information, right? Not when they had such a force in Sonage, judging by the recent revelations of riots. They would never risk her cover by flying halfway across the country.

Maybe… she was just going to a wedding, and this was all for naught.

By the time they reached the airport, Luna's car pulled into the drop-off station. The chauffeur helped her with her hand luggage, and she bade him farewell and headed for the entrance.

"Why isn't she getting him to escort her inside?" Roy said, sticking his nose to the glass to get a better look.

"Probably doesn't want the hassle," said Rudy, dipping his sunglasses down to do the same. "There's nothing to it. She's just going home."

Luna stepped through the doors. Her car drove off.

After a few minutes, Durante's walkie-talkie buzzed in. The second car was leaving, and the airport agent had reported her walking around the lobby.

"She could still come out of the airport," Roy protested, feeling a little embarrassed but determined not to give in. "I think we should wait longer."

Durante sighed, but didn't argue, relaying the order to the others. They'd already left by the time they'd replied, their speech crackled by the distance. Silence permeated the air as did the first speckles of rain, pattering down on the car hood, and Roy kept his focus on the airport.

Was she _really_ flying to Calgary? After all that strange behaviour…

Rudy eventually groaned. "I think it's time we go back, Roy."

Then a figure stepped out of the entrance doors again, and Roy had to double-take. A man, adorned in a tailored pinstripe suit and a hooded coat, leather gloved hands clutching the luggage handle tightly. Familiar luggage. Blonde hair poked out from underneath a heavy woollen hood – but it didn't disguise the hazel eyes that darted left and right.

Luna's eyes.

Blonde hair. New clothes. She was in disguise as a man.

Roy cowered in his seat despite the tinted windows. "S-She's there! And she's rocking a suit!"

"What?" said Rudy and Durante in unison, moving together to get a better look. When their mouths opened ajar, and Durante silently mumbled into the walkie-talkie, Roy knew his suspicions were right.

Luna was never going to Calgary tonight.

Another car pulled up in front of them. Nowhere near as fashionable as the palace town cars, Luna half-ran, half-walked for it. Without pretence, she shoved her luggage and herself inside and slammed the door, and the car pulled off, quiet and unassuming in the amassing traffic.

As Durante restarted the car, barking into the walkie-talkie, Roy threw out all he knew about Luna Bellini-Torres. She guarded her secrets as close to her heart as she could, never letting anyone close.

And that made her the most suspicious of all.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh no! Where is Luna going? I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

y'all it's so hot i haven't written more than 500 words this week because i am weak and slowly melting

Keeping this short so I can collapse in front of a fan, but as always, thanks for reading, reviewing and following along!

~ GWA

NTT: "Did… he really just compare Roy to an eggplant?"


	58. The Art of Subtlety

Durante slammed down on the gas to get the car moving, to chase after Luna's new escort car, and Roy clenched the seat in front of him so tightly his nails dug into the smooth leather.

He was right, no matter how much he didn't want to be. Luna wasn't going to Calgary, wasn't going to a wedding, and it left him with only one thought of what the truth might be. But he didn't acknowledge it, even as the car jumped into motion behind her.

Rudy scrambled to reattach his seatbelt. "The other unit. Where are they?"

"Turning back now," said Durante, fists balling over the steering wheel. "I don't think they'll make it on time. It might be just us."

The target car wasn't driving badly, per se, but it sure wasn't going to sit around and wait for the green lights. Back on the local interstate, it cut swiftly across lanes to take an exit towards the city centre. Déjà vu hit Roy like a ton of bricks.

"Wherever she's going, we mustn't engage," said Rudy, still donning his ridiculous sunglasses. "We're not risking your life."

"If she's going to meet the rebels—" Roy started.

"Then at the very least, you and I are going to wait here, and Durante is going inside. You're not leaving my sight."

The traffic was thick for the time of day, and Luna's car wove between lanes like embroidery through a canvas. Durante struggled to keep up, his forehead beading with sweat. After moments, he abandoned all he knew about traffic laws and sped across crossroads without a care.

After what seemed like an eternity of mad driving, with the city alive around them, Luna's car slipped into the downtown area.

"Where are we?" Roy asked, voice small.

Rudy gulped. "This is… the arts district."

The _arts_ district? The car rumbled to a stop by a well-lit street, crowded with people dressed in anything from platform heels and skimpy dresses to gothic coattails and cyberpunk neon jumpsuits. The brick building loomed over everyone, several stories high. It would've better resembled a prison block if it weren't colourfully painted with graffiti, decorated with faux flower boxes and bathed in spotlights. Bouncers stood outside the venue to check tickets and search bags.

Luna stepped out in shiny black loafers. She was unrecognisable now – sunglasses masking her traitorous eyes, even a little brown fuzz sprouting from her chin – and joined the queue. Not speaking a word to anyone, her pose artfully hostile.

Durante looked back at Roy. "What do we do? I can't stay here. There's no parking."

Roy unclicked his seatbelt. "I'll go—"

"No," Rudy snapped. "I meant it when I said I was keeping an eye on you. This is dangerous!"

"This is a public event." Roy gestured to the line. "We'll blend right in. In fact, _you'll_ blend better than anyone!"

"Then I'll go myself, and you can stay—"

"How are you going to get inside?"

A horn blared from behind them. Rudy faltered, swore under his breath, then said, "If you die tonight, I'll kill you."

"We're going to lose her, come on!"

Roy threw open the door and scrambled out, Rudy following behind and slamming the door. Durante peeled free as Roy and Rudy crossed the road, ignoring the second wave of angry drivers, and joined the queue to go inside.

Roy pulled up his hood and craned his neck over the bodies. Luna had somehow fast-tracked to the front, waving her ticket to the bouncers. They seemed more elated to see her than anyone should be to see a traitor, and let her go inside without checking her whatsoever.

"Stay close to me," Rudy hissed. "I can't believe we're doing this…"

By the time they were at the front, Durante had caught up to them, mumbling vaguely about parking on a yellow kerb. He slipped to Rudy's side to glares from the people behind as Roy peered inside the glass doors. It seemed to be the entrance to an art gallery.

The bouncers drew Roy's attention. "Tickets?"

"We don't have any," Roy confessed immediately. He loosened his hood. "Recognise me? I need to go inside."

The bouncer squinted. "No ticket, no entry."

He dropped his jaw in mortification. _Never_ had he been rejected by a bouncer before. "But I'm Prince Roy!" he said. "In the name of Illéa, you must let me, my valet and my bodyguard—"

"If the Selected can buy tickets, so can the prince. Scram."

Durante squared his shoulders, but Rudy dragged him away before they could devolve into a scrap. Roy's cheeks burnt, but as he fled to the other side of the road to rethink, his head hooked on that one piece of information.

 _If the Selected can buy tickets._ So… he knew about Luna? Why was she in disguise? Why did she fabricate the lie about the wedding if she was only going to get caught here?

Roy yanked down his hood, shoulders pulled towards him. "I can't believe that didn't work! It always works!"

"Guess your title doesn't charm everyone," said Rudy. "How are we going to get inside now?"

"We could ask someone for their tickets?" asked Durante hopefully.

"No one would give them up, not even for His Highness," said Rudy. "This is the arts district. Everyone wants to be where the art is—" He cut himself off. "Wait a minute. Did he say, Selected?"

Cold, cruel air whipped through Roy's hoodie, and he shivered, wishing Durante had parked closer so they could sit inside the car, at least. "Yeah. He was referring to Luna."

"Or… was he…?"

Rudy yanked out his phone. The dial tone buzzed out, and he held it to his ear.

"What're you doing?" asked Roy.

"Good evening." Rudy waved Roy off. "Don't take this a weird way, but… where are you?" Pause. "Well, that's lucky, because we also happen to be there. Do you think you could get us in?"

Roy just exchanged a confused look with Durante.

"We're across the road. Thanks." Rudy hung up.

"Who was that?" asked Roy.

It didn't take long to find out.

"So, er, why are you all here?"

Roy swivelled around. Persephone Cahill could swing heads in her red dress, slit down her legs, and a glamourous faux fur coat, her red hair piled onto her head and fastened with gold-inset pearls.

Rudy jumped forwards before Roy could say anything. "Ahah! Seph, hi to you, too. His Highness and Officer Durante kindly agreed to, er, accompany me as I perused the exhibit today. Do you think you could get us inside?"

She crossed her arms. "I didn't know you had an interest in photography."

"Remember you showed me all your photos? You inspired me."

The lies were pouring from his mouth, so blatant Roy had to stop himself from collapsing with laughter. The only reason he'd looked at Persephone's photos was to make sure she _wasn't_ the spy. Exactly the same reason they were here tonight. Luckily, Persephone didn't suspect.

"I feel like that's an exaggeration, but that's… nice of you to say, Rudy. I'm just surprised you brought your entourage with you." Her blue eyes fixed on Roy. "What's up with the outfit? You look like you're about to rob a bank."

"I, er, channelled my inner punk. And they're technically _my_ entourage." He darted his eyes back to the entrance. "Listen. Rudy is, er, desperate to get inside and gander at all the wonderful photos, so…?"

Persephone's eyes went from him, to Rudy, to Durante and back to Roy. "Somehow I feel like one of you was unnecessary here."

It took him a moment to realise she was talking about him. He didn't even refute the obvious jab, as all this talking was getting them nowhere. Luna was slipping through their fingers – who knew how big this place was?

"Can you get us inside or not?"

"Okay, okay," Persephone relented, clearly more weirded out than she was letting on. Probably glad she was eliminated already. "I'm actually an honoured guest for the show, and the curator invited me personally, so I can ask her to let you through and I'm sure she'll agree. Might need to make announcements—"

"No!" Roy blurted. "No. We just want a… quiet night. No paps. No big spectacle, or anything. It should be about the photos, not me."

"Roy? _The_ prince? Not wanting the spotlight? Are you feeling okay?"

Blood flared through Roy's cheeks. "I know I _am_ artwork, but tonight I don't want to bask in my excellence, so… please?"

They crossed the road and Persephone disappeared back inside to fetch the curator. After mere moments, the show curator shook Roy's hand and let them through, with Roy passing a sneer at the bouncers as he did. When the curator left them alone, Persephone grabbed them some champagne and giggled happily as she took in the scene.

"Isn't it amazing?"

The bright room was wide and open, partitions bisecting the minor crowds to hang more of the golden-framed photos and original artwork on the walls. Plaques gleamed by the corners, as crystalline as the chandeliers that hung above them. The floorboards creaked as they walked, and perfumes of all scents mingled together in Roy's nose.

"Why don't I show you around?" offered Persephone, giddy with glee. "One day, some of my photos are going to be on display! Right now, I'm editing some I took of the Selected!"

Not knowing how to politely decline to search for Luna, Roy reluctantly allowed Persephone the tour. Durante, at least, was tall enough to tower above most of the other visitors, and his eyes scanned the crowds for any sign of their suited escapee.

"This is the show's masterpiece," said Persephone, gesturing to the one on display in front, the spotlights converging on a single large photo. "This is _Fallen from Grace_ by Lucan Abate!"

The picture didn't excite Roy as much as it did Persephone. Ripped clothes and torn fabrics, glitter and beads running off a silk covered bed. Persephone nattered on about the alignment of the elements and the juxtaposition of the lighting to the shadows, and whilst Rudy effortlessly pretended to care (or actually cared), Roy searched more desperately for Luna.

"Your Highness," whispered Durante, tugging at Roy's sleeve. "There."

Roy waited for people to part. Luna, still in her disguise, but without her coat, her blonde wig was on display, and it was styled so well that not a single hair of her true brown peered out from beneath. Not once did he she open her mouth, despite being in the centre of conversation with four other dazzling people, glass flute in hand. This had been her destination all along.

He narrowed his eyes. All this lying and pretending, so she could dress up and go to an art gallery opening?

"Good eye, Roy," Persephone suddenly said.

Roy whipped back to her. "What?"

"That's Lucan Abate," she said, eyes fixing on Luna. "The one with the blond hair and pinstripe suit."

Roy's jaw dropped open.

Luna was _masquerading_ as a photographer.

 _That_ was why she was here.

"T-That's Lucan Abate?" stuttered Rudy, also too shocked to say much else.

"Yeah, that's him," said Persephone, admiration fluttering in her tone. "He makes so many wonderful pieces. _Guarded, The Last Flower of Winter,_ and my favourite collection, _Food of the Gods._ You should definitely see those – the strawberry tarts piece is my absolute favourite. He really knows how to capture an audience." She sighed dreamily. "It's so much more meaningful too, because he's mute and only communicates via his photography. God, I wish I was cool enough to know him."

Durante snorted before covering it up with a cough.

"You're… a Selected," Roy said stupidly. "Shouldn't he… want to know you?"

She frowned. "I hoped that would be my ticket in, but it seems like every time he sees me, he walks off. It's like he doesn't want to know me." Her face hardened. "I… guess that's fair. Maybe he doesn't approve of the Selection, or whatever." Her eyes lit up. "Maybe he'll want to know _you,_ though…"

Now that the initial shock had passed, Roy turned back to Luna. She may have been pretending to be a photographer with her art on show here, but she was still a suspect. Still competing in the Selection, and still possibly a rebel spy. This was the perfect place to exchange information with rebels, with Walter or Skye, if she hadn't done so already. The group crowding around her could be rebels themselves.

"As someone who knows His Highness already, I sincerely pity the man if he does," Rudy said quickly, cottoning on to Roy's determined expression. He roped his arm through Persephone's. "Why don't you show me the strawberry tarts piece? _Food of the Gods,_ was it? Is it on show tonight?"

She hesitated, but eventually smiled. "Yes, it is. It's just around here."

"Durante and I will… walk around," said Roy.

Rudy shot him a hard look that said, _don't do anything stupid,_ then another, much softer one to Durante that said, _please take care of this moron for me._ Roy winced as they moved off, arm in arm, leaving Durante and Roy to their dark-clad selves.

"We really should've worn something better," said Durante helpfully.

"No kidding." Everyone was dressed as either an extravagant socialite or a hipster, so much so that he and Roy really stuck out. Roy beckoned him forwards. "Come on. Let's see if we can eavesdrop on Luna's conversation. If they're rebels…"

"I find that unlikely." Durante tugged on Roy's arm, holding the prince back. "We're here to observe, not engage. If she catches us, we lose our cover—"

"Good thing she won't catch us," said Roy, shrugging out of Durante's iron grip, which took a few tries. Durante followed wordlessly.

Luna and the group of art nerds were hustled around a close-up photograph of an aubergine (too close, if anyone asked him). Flutes in hand, they laughed loudly in unison, tuxedos wrinkling, glossy mouths parting. Roy and Durante edged as close as they could without intruding into their circle, and Roy tuned into the conversation.

"—should really try harder. Tear gas? Please," one said. Some man whose brown suit rivalled Luna's in the number of stripes. "I would cry with laughter at the thought of them!"

The group crowed with amusement. Luna stayed silent, but managed a quirky smile.

"It's so dang silly," said a women with a southern accent, reminding Roy of his mother's occasional twang. "If the rebels want change, they should really try a more diplomatic approach."

"Who can blame them?" sighed another. "That Prince Roy – he's a piece of work."

Roy froze. He glanced nervously at Luna – no reaction.

"Now, now," said the man again. "I think he's a work in progress – and he's working, all right. Those Selection women are really straightening that boy out." He gestured to the photograph. "He's like _The Eggplant._ Gigi Thanotico captures the essence of looking closely at one's self and seeing one's imperfections. He's reflecting on his past, assessing his imperfections, and he's trying to change."

Did… he really just compare Roy to an eggplant?

The southern woman hooted. "Now you're just teasing, aren't you?" She panned to Luna. "Lucan, what do you think? Are the rebels mad to target the monarchy?"

Luna didn't hesitate. She nodded.

The group roused with either cheers or disappointment that filled the whole room. "You see? Lucan gets it! He always does!" versus "Lucan, how could you be so narrow?" Luna did nothing, no matter what was said. Sipped her champagne and smiled or frowned. She was so distant, yet these people hung on her every nod or shake of her head.

This was an entire double life Luna was living, and no one else knew.

And these people were talking such smack about the rebels that Roy couldn't believe she was one of them. Why was she hiding this part of herself? Was she ashamed of her work? Her photography? It wasn't like they were bad or anything – these people seemed to hold her to the gold standard. Even Persephone was mooning over the strawberry tarts of Luna's photographic creation.

It didn't make sense. Just when he thought he knew Luna, she turned around and did something like this to prove him wrong.

Luna's shoulders dropped. She held up a pardoning hand to the group and glided swiftly free.

Straight for gawking Roy.

Roy hid behind Durante. " _Shit,_ she's coming this way!"

Durante angled himself away, face suddenly tight. Roy copied, staring intensely at the wall and yanking down on his hoodie strings.

But a hand fell on his arm, and Luna hissed right into his ear.

"What. The. _Hell?"_

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

So this was what it felt like to get caught with a hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Pretty cruddy.

Roy summoned his best apologetic face. He could easily read Luna's, even with the giant sunglasses shrouding her eyes, the fake beard plastered around her lips, and a good dusting of make-up to pronounce her jaw and cheekbones. Teeth on show and gritted together with increasing anger.

"Luna— er, _Lucan,_ I—"

She grabbed his arm and dragged him to a private break room at the back. With the art show in full swing, the ramshackle hovel of a hideout was completely empty, tables and chairs disorderly and drink cups abandoned.

Durante assumed a position at the door, but Luna paid him no attention. She ripped her sunglasses off. "What the _hell,_ Roy!" she yelled again.

Roy gulped. Now he could see the fury that raged in her eyes.

"I can explain—"

"Why are you here? Why did you bring your bodyguard?" She inhaled sharply. "Did you— did you _follow_ me from the palace? That's the only way you could've found me!"

He bit his lip. "Okay, yes, we followed you, but—"

"Why? Tell me _why_ you followed me!" She stomped forwards on the polished floorboards. "I don't want you here!"

"Why don't you—"

" _Tell_ me, Roy!"

No way could he tell her about the spy. Maeve knew, and that was enough. Risking Luna was too far.

"I had an inkling you weren't going to a wedding in Calgary, so I followed you to find out why you lied to me. Why _did_ you lie?"

"Two wrongs don't make a right," she muttered, ignoring the question. "It's not okay for you to hover over me!"

"Why did you lie, then?"

"It's none of your business!"

"Yes it is!" he said. "You lied to leave the palace! For all I know, you could've been seeing someone else behind my back!"

" _Seeing—!"_ she spluttered furiously. "I have integrity, Roy! How dare you even think I'd do that!"

"What else was I supposed to think?"

"If you trusted me, it wouldn't matter whether I'm going to a wedding or not! If you trusted me, you wouldn't have followed me!"

"I _do_ trust you!" he yelled. "What happened to us being honest with each other? We made that promise never to lie and keep it real, and then you go and do it anyway, which says that _you_ don't trust _me!"_

Luna hesitated, the tension around her deflating. "This is different."

"How?"

"It just is!" She turned away, and replaced the sunglasses over her head. "Just leave, Roy. I have a show to do."

"But—"

"Just _go."_ Her voice melted into a pleading tone. " _Please."_

Insides aflame, Roy made his way back into the exhibition floor, Durante quietly closing the door behind him.

It was easy finding Persephone and Rudy together – their redheads sticking out like porcupine quills. Rudy saw the despair in Roy's eyes and dropped his arm from Persephone's when he approached.

"What's the matter?"

"We should go," said Roy. "I'll explain later."

"Was that you and Lucan, Roy?" Persephone dropped her voice into a whisper, hungry for information. "Why did he look angry?"

"It seems _Lucan Abate_ never wanted me here in the first place. So now I feel uncomfortable and want to go home." Roy didn't care how petulant he sounded. Shame burnt from his cheeks. "I'm not welcome here anymore."

"But… why doesn't he want you here? And the show curator loves high-profile guests—"

"Are you coming, Rudy?" Roy cut across. "Or… do you want to stay…?"

"No, no," Rudy said with a sigh. "We can go, Your Highness."

He probably hadn't had a decent night off in a while, and especially not with his friend Persephone. Without Rudy in the car with them, Roy couldn't vent his anger about the whole Luna situation, and it wasn't like Durante was much conversation, but the plea on Rudy's face was enough for Roy to let it go this once.

Roy turned to Persephone. "Perseph, how are you getting back?"

"My car is coming in a couple of hours." She narrowed her eyes. "And don't call me _Perseph."_

"Great. Take Rudy back with you."

"But—" Rudy protested.

"It's fine. Someone should get to enjoy the show."

Durante looked like he wanted to stay, too. Escorting home a washed-out royal was probably far less fun than hanging around with his crush and an art expert. Nonetheless, when Roy exited the building, Durante followed, and together they headed back to the car, back to home.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy leant against the car window, arms crossed, stewing on his thoughts. He clasped and unclasped his hands, restless as a current of electricity, as neon flashed across the horizon, coalescing with the lamplights that lined the interstate. It didn't take long until they were home, the car ride utterly silent aside from the occasional report to Durante's walkie-talkie, and Roy didn't waste time when they arrived at the palace brushing everyone off to take a walk.

Luna lied to him. Luna didn't trust him. Luna didn't want him knowing about this other side of her, her life as the elusive Lucan Abate.

He'd seen the real her, and she didn't like it.

Sighing, he slouched against a wall and stared at the ceiling. But _why_ didn't she want him there? Maybe it was just the principle that he followed her, didn't trust her enough, but it seemed like there was more to it than that. She couldn't bear him knowing about her photography, perhaps? But why not?

A figure swooped around the corner and stumbled to a halt.

"Oh, Your Highness, darling!" Romilda dipped into a shallow curtsy. "I nearly tripped over you! You look… out of sorts."

He righted himself and brushed a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Something like that."

She beamed a brilliant smile and took him in her arms. "Oh, no one should feel as helpless as you look! Come to the kitchens with me. We can have some delicious strawberries in chocolate fondue to cheer you right up."

He didn't argue as they ambled to the kitchens. Curiously, a table had already been set for two, and a fondue machine was already pouring a luxurious river of milk chocolate with a smell overpowering and mouth-watering. A small bowl of strawberries had been de-cored and chopped into reasonable skewer sizes, ready for dipping.

Romilda ushered him another chair and bowl, and sat him down.

"Table for two?" he said, eyeing the now third place. "Did you know I'd agree to this?"

Romilda chortled with a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, I'm waiting for my friend. She'll be here soon."

"You sure I can be here?"

"Of course! I'm sure she'd love to meet you." She fluttered a hand dismissively. "And we do this so often that it'll be nice to have new company. Did you know that the palace is the only place that has unrestricted broadcasting rights?"

"I didn't."

"It does! If your parents decided to air an emergency announcement, for example, all TVs and radios across Illéa would turn on. My next project isn't a mandatory report, simply hosting a midnight music station, but with presenting the Capital Report and doing the odd modelling contract, I'm all over the place, so indulging in my guilty pleasure helps me cope." She winked. "Sssshhh."

He mocked zipping his mouth. "I won't tell."

The first strawberry in chocolate melted in his mouth. Romilda had twisted an apron around her thin frame, and for good reason, since her impatience led to her spilling chocolate all over her lap.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked in a hushed voice. The kitchen wasn't very busy, and Romilda seemed to have snagged this alcove for herself because it was quiet. "We don't have to. I, for one, am happy to pamper ourselves with strawberries and chocolate in complete silence."

He bit his lip, tasting of velvety chocolate. "It's… the Selection…"

"Aaaaah," she said. "It's that sort of a problem."

"I had an argument with one of the girls. I caught her doing something she didn't want me finding out about." Roy's cheeks stained crimson. "That… didn't come out right. It's a hobby she didn't want me knowing about."

"Oh dear. That does sound quite the pickle." Romilda waved a strawberry around. "Well, did you find out deliberately?"

"What?"

"Her doing this hobby. Was it by accident that you found out?"

He winced. "No, not really."

Romilda popped the strawberry in her mouth. "Then you should apologise."

Roy sank in his chair. "I know, but… there isn't anything wrong with it? I don't mind knowing. It's not life-changing, or anything. No one gets hurt."

"But she didn't want you to know about it. So, you apologise to her and quietly forget you ever saw anything."

"But—"

"Your Highness, darling," Romilda fixed him a _look,_ parental in essence. "You have to respect people's spaces. If she enjoys this hobby of hers privately, you let her enjoy it privately. You don't invade that. If she wants to let you in on the fun, she'll let you in." She dipped another strawberry. "When I was a child, I used to strut around the house in Mom's high heels to pretend to model, catwalks and fame and cameras galore. Mom always saw me daydreaming, but never commented on it."

"Weren't you a model when you were young?"

"Not until I hit ten. Mom asked me if I wanted to try for an agent when I was seven. Me? I liked doing it for me, but doing it for other people…" She shuddered. "Goodness, I loathed the idea! Mom never asked me again. She respected my boundaries. Three years later, I felt more prepared to share, so we talked about it, and how much I enjoyed doing it, and I thought now I was ready to try my hand at acquiring an agent." She flapped her hands, chocolate flinging out and smacking the countertop opposite. "The rest is history!"

Roy nibbled on the end of a strawberry, staring glassily at the table. This didn't feel the same to Luna's situation at all. "I guess."

"It is. You should check my Wikipedia page. It's all under the _Life and Career_ section." She winked. "Nonetheless, darling, it's obvious whatever her hobby is, it means a lot to her. You probably caught her off-guard, too. Maybe it's embarrassing for her?"

Well, she was dressed as a man, if that counted, but honestly, she worked that suit better than Roy ever had. "I don't know. I really don't."

"Give it time," Romilda said. "If she wants to talk about it, she will." Her head zoomed forwards. "Wait. You didn't eliminate her?"

"What? No." He hadn't even considered it, to be honest.

"That's good. You still have a chance to right some wrongs." She dabbed a napkin to her lips, and yet somehow didn't lose even the top layer of dark red lipstick. "Sleep on it, Your Highness. Problems are always easier after you let them stew for a while."

It wasn't like he had another choice. "Thanks, Rom."

"Romilda!"

Roy turned to the new voice. The woman entering the kitchen was tall and lithe, like a ribbon, with shining dark skin and an explosive afro. It jiggled when she dipped into a curtsy, mouth forming an _o_ shape.

"Y-Your Highness, I had no idea you'd be here." She fixed an icy glare at Romilda. " _Someone_ didn't give me any warning."

Roy couldn't stop gawping. This woman looked exactly like Romilda…. yet _not._

Romilda jumped up from her seat. "Don't mind the prince, Abalone, darling. He's just having some girl problems." She winked his way before ushering Abalone to her seat. Abalone hunched her shoulders and fleetingly glanced his way.

"I have so many questions," Roy just said.

Romilda laughed. "Your face was priceless! Imagine," she tapped Abalone playfully on the hand, "that I decided to surprise His Highness with you."

"Decided to surprise me with His Highness, too," Abalone muttered, sweeping madly at her skirt.

"I nearly bowled him over on my way down here, and he looked so downcast that I couldn't leave him!"

"Wait, so," Roy said, "sisters…?"

Romilda and Abalone shared a glance. Then they both burst out laughing. He flushed.

"No, darling!" crowed Romilda. "She's my body double!"

"Your _body double?"_ he repeated. "Why do you have a body double?"

"Oh, Your Highness. Every famous person in some large capacity has a body double. Even you, though I suppose yours would be called a _political decoy_." She smiled. "They act as your substitute for press, to take your place at public events or to fill in as you at rehearsals. Or, in my case," she grinned at Abalone, "to act as your double in film scenes."

He had no idea. Had Abalone been around this whole time, and he'd mistaken her for Romilda?

"I… had no idea," he mumbled.

"Then my work here is done," said Abalone. Romilda chortled at the joke, but it only flushed Roy's cheeks more.

He turned to Abalone. "How long have you been a double for Romilda?"

A bead of sweat formed on her forehead. Clearly, she hadn't prepared to meet him tonight. Or ever. "Quite a long time, Your Highness. At least five years."

Five years, and he'd never seen this woman in his life. Or maybe he had. This was all so confusing.

"We used to meet up at a cute little boutique in LA for dessert." Romilda valiantly sacrificed some of her own strawberries to give to Abalone. "But then I discovered the palace-made fondues and fell in love, so now I invite Abalone here instead. We get on really well, which is always wonderful."

Did _he_ have a political decoy? All this time? He couldn't recall ever seeing another him running around, or hearing about another him. All that, though, may have been left to his security teams to organise, whilst he was kept separate for his safety and because, frankly, it didn't concern him.

"Learn something new every day," he concluded with a shrug, dipping another strawberry.

"Of course, darling, of course! Now eat up, or I'll take all your strawberries!"

With three of them, the rest of the fruit was snapped up before long. Abalone, as it turned out, had completely different interests than Romilda, so much so that the two were practically strangers by hobbies, and despite the physical similarities, she acted and spoke differently, like an opposite, twilight-zone version of her. But Abalone still laughed and had fun and impersonated Romilda's body language too well, and by the time the amusement wore off, it was nearly two, and Roy slumped back to his room to sleep, head wrapped up by clouds.

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It was a loud knock that pealed Roy's thoughts next morning.

He rolled over in bed, trying to scrub the last of a lingering nightmare away, and peered at the clock. Seven. The sun was barely cresting over the horizon, flickering to life over the grassy acres of the palace grounds, and straying through his bedroom window.

"Mmm," he grumbled, "who is it?"

"It's Luna."

Roy shot up. Slumber had afforded him a quiet moment of respite from the awkwardness that ballooned between them, but now she was confronting him head on, no chance to escape.

A sighed loosed free, and he rubbed his sticky eyes. "Gimma' a min or two."

Roy slogged out of bed, brushed his teeth, splashed his face and put on a shirt and a pair of trousers. Forgoing the jacket, he cracked open the door.

Luna was impossibly bright and perky-faced for this early, especially when she'd probably come back late from yesterday's show. Very much more recognisable than her Lucan Abate alias, her black dress fell to the floor, slit down her chest with a high collar. Not even a lock of her hair was out of place, tightly compacted into an elegant bun style.

Roy glanced at the door guard for a moment. He served him an apologetic look. Obviously, Luna refused to _not_ disturb Roy, even as the rest of the palace were still asleep.

"Can we talk?"

"It's sleepy time," Roy just said.

Luna rolled her eyes. "The sun is up, we are up. Come on. You can go back to your _sleepy time_ when we're done." She moved off, making a face that said, _I can't believe the prince, our country's nearly-twenty-year-old heir, just said_ it's sleepy time _to me._

Roy lumbered after her, and the door guard followed. Luna said nothing until they'd made their way further from his quarters than he liked, into a long hallway punctured with arch windows, where unique and jewel-toned shield insignias decorated the ceiling.

She stopped and spun to face him in one motion. "Go on. Say it."

He just stared at her. "Say what?"

"Eliminate me."

Roy blinked awake. " _What?"_

Luna broke eye contact, shedding that self-assured persona she carried everywhere for an uncertain shell of herself.

"I figured… after yesterday…" Her face tightened. "I figured that was it. You'd want me gone."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because we argued. Pretty spectacularly."

"I don't regret us arguing, Luna," said Roy. "We had an obvious… communication mishap that I figured we could hammer out another day."

Her mouth hung open, red lips still with nothing to say. For a moment, she let the silence sweep between them before stepping closer to him. The inches she lacked in height weren't quite made up by her heels, but she stood her ground, unintimidated by him.

"You don't want to eliminate me, then?"

"No."

Her body visibly exhaled, like a breath she'd been holding all night. It warmed to his heart that she cared enough to want to stay, even after yesterday's shouting match.

"But I do have questions," he added. She hesitated nodding, but it was a nod nonetheless. "First things first: was masquerading as Lucan Abate your way of… coming out as transgender…?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing like that. I'm easily identifiable as me as a woman. Pretending to be a mute man minimised chances of being recognised."

"Right." One down, a hundred more to go. "Second things second: why?"

"You're going to have to specify."

He threw out his arms. "You're apparently one of Illéa's most well-known photographers. You're super mysterious, yet coveted by literally everyone. There's wasn't a soul in that exhibition that didn't want to be around you, to know you, to fish for your opinions. Your photos were the star of the show." He took a breath. "And yet you're actually just Luna Bellini-Torres with a little make-up, a few tailored suits and some accessories. You could have all that fame and clout, but you choose to hide it instead. Why?"

"That's not something I can give a simple answer to." She found a chaise lounge and sunk down on it, Roy besides her. "I never intended for it to get this big."

"Well, it did," said Roy. "Persephone was swooning over you, for god's sake."

Luna laughed. "I have to keep avoiding her so she won't find out. I know she must think Lucan's a jerk for doing that, but…" she shrugged, "I'd rather her not know." Her eyes blazed. "I'd rather no one knew."

"But _why?_ You're clearly skilled at what you do."

"Listen, Roy, your parents support you doing whatever you want. If you decided you suddenly wanted to take up gardening, would they stop you?"

"They're fine with Gail playing hockey with the maids, so gardening is hardly outlandish."

"It's not like that for me. My parents— well, my mother…" Her fists balled on her lap. "She always hated the fact that I wanted to become an actor, let alone a photographer. She thought pursuing anything creative was a waste of time. That's why she made me take the international studies degree at university. That's why I'm on path to become a politician, just like her, just like everyone before me." Her shoulders pulled taut and her jaw tightened, the intensity of her words charging the air. "I don't get a choice. I have the path laid out for me, and though I can't hide who I am when I act, I can when I do photography. It's the only respite I get."

Head down, lips quivering, she looked away from Roy's stunned gaze to stop the emotions from overwhelming. "And you know? I thought… I was _stupid_ enough to think I could hope for something better with the Selection. That the deal I made with my mom, that if I actually tried to win, she'd leave me alone… I was stupid enough to think she was going to keep her promise."

Roy leant back, heart beating harshly in his chest. Pity strode through him without warning, that she could feel so deeply and so tiringly. Her mother handheld every major decision in Luna's life until it didn't even feel like hers anymore.

Unfairly, it seemed like Luna had the opposite problem to Lilly. She thought royal life would trap her, but Luna believed it would set her free.

"Becoming queen brings its own set of problems," he said gently. "I'd say it's just like being a glorified politician. I know you already know that, but… it's not so much a career choice. It's a way of life. You live and breathe your country, but you are still individual." He managed a soft smile. "I know that if you were to win, I wouldn't force you to do anything you didn't want to do, and you could act and take pictures all you want."

"It's not even about that anymore, Roy," she mumbled. "Whatever I choose, I'm playing into her hands. I win, I become the most politically powerful figure in the country. I lose, I go back to school, back to studying a subject I don't care about for a person who—" she inhaled a long breath. "For a person who sees me more as an advantage than a daughter."

There was nothing to say to that. Luna spilled out a sigh as she did, and her body buckled, like pulling the thread that held together a piece of cloth until it was nothing but scrambled remains.

No wonder she was so aloof, so hostile to everyone. The world was against her, and she was against the world.

"You're a great person, Luna. If your mom doesn't see that when you strip away your political mind and your potential assets, then it's her loss. If it matters, I care about you a lot." He smiled. "We promised to be honest with one another, and I'm being completely honest when I say you don't need her to dictate how you run your life. You're doing plenty great on your own."

For a moment, he wondered if she'd heard. She said nothing, did nothing. Then, extending her legs out from her and stretching, she breathed deeply and finally settled on a smile.

"Thanks."

He grinned. "I'm glad we got to know each other better, for what it's worth, too. I know you didn't properly meet me of your own accord, but—"

"That's one thing I'm glad my mother did for me, is enter this Selection," she said quietly. "I'm… grateful that I got to know you better."

She placed a hand on his, her touch gentle and easy, and sat back. Stupefied into silence, Roy rested his head against the wall to join her in solitude. Both gazed starry-eyed at the ceiling, saying nothing, but the simple connection between them meaning everything.

"Kyaaah! Look at you two love birds!"

Roy sat up; Aunt Mimi had squished her cheeks together, practically undulating at the sight of them, near a pot plant in one of the wall cavities. Luna snatched her hand back, the moment dashed.

"Oh!" Mimi startled, noticing Luna's glare. "Gosh, didn't mean to interrupt. Don't mind me!"

She tiptoed back until she was hidden behind the pot plant. And by hidden, it meant she was completely and totally visible, her sequin dress gilding the plant's silhouette.

Face burning, Roy rubbed the back of his neck and helped Luna to stand. The peaceful expression had vanished, replaced with her usual hard exterior. She gave Roy that look.

"Your aunt is…" Luna sighed. "I should go."

She left without another word. With the moment gone, and Roy's feelings deflating faster than a punctured tyre, he massaged his temple and addressed his aunt. "I can still see you."

"Why did she leave?" Mimi asked, sticking her head out from around the leaves. "You were having such a cute moment!"

"Until you interrupted," Roy snipped.

"I just happened to be coming down this corridor, Roy. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you have, I don't know, turned around and gone another way?"

"Oooh, but I couldn't resist having a peek at you both! You're just so sweet together! The irresponsible prince and the Ice Queen, finding mutual ground to overcome their inner demons!"

Did she really just use that horrid nickname right in front of him? Roy spluttered. "W-What?"

"The prince learns duty, the Ice Queen's heart thaws! It's a very romantic spin on your relationship with Luna! The tabloids eat it up, and of course, I help big it up a lot to the press." She winked. "Who knows? Maybe Luna's moniker will become reality, hmm? Ice _Queen?"_

Roy's eye twitched. This was honestly absurd. Absurd enough to unleash even more irritation at Mimi's interruption.

"But never mind that. I just had to find you!" Her high heels stuttered against the carpet as she approached him, taking his shoulders in her hands. "We have one more date to sort out!"

Roy pulled away. "I said I didn't want—"

"I figured, only one left! So I might as well set it all up for you, to prevent any stress! Isn't that great?" She grinned, missing the fury eddying onto Roy's face. "So you and Lady Ambrosia will go horse-riding in the afternoon. I've already put in a word to your tailor to bundle you up, nice and—"

"I _said_ I didn't want you setting up my dates!" he shrilled. "I expressly told you _not_ to interfere, and you're doing it anyway! You're not listening to me!"

Mimi recoiled, her amusement gone. "But it's your last—"

"I don't care if it's my last date, or if you think you can sort it all for me. I asked you not to. _I_ want to be the one to do this. This is my Selection!" He flung out a hand. "I'm not your doll, so stop making decisions for me! If you want me to do things, go do them yourself!"

Her eyes welled up. "I'm trying to help you, Roy!"

"Well, you're not!" he yelled. "Just… just stay out of my business!"

And with that, Mimi burst into tears, blubbered something incoherent, and then ran away.

* * *

 **A/N:** A long time coming, or overly harsh? Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I've been so excited about Luna's double life as photography master Lucan Abate, so this one was a blast to write, but once again, there's an entire section of this that wasn't present a week ago. I think I've finally ironed out all the kinks in the plot now. If I'm right, we should be back to weekly updates (providing I haul my ass to finish writing chapters on time as well lol). Fingers crossed!

Shoutout to **wolfofstark** for Persephone Cahill! Yep, she's still around, probably thankful she isn't tangled in Roy's mess anymore. ;)

Thanks for reading, all!

~ GWA

NTT: "Ah, the power of hormones! Giving you all that teenage angst!"


	59. Dreams and Nightmares

Roy felt terrible, and yet so, _so_ relieved.

Maybe Mimi didn't deserve his delivery, or the harshness of his feelings. He probably could've asked her more politely. But then what? She would've hardly nudged her behaviour to something more acceptable. No, as horrible as he'd been, she desperately needed to hear it to take her nose out of his business.

The _irresponsible prince_ comment still stung.

What would she do now? Snitch to Ji-Yu? Cry by herself in her quarters? Blabber to Clarity and Rainerd? Nothing helped to alleviate the guilt in Roy's chest, even if it was eclipsed by the respite from the truth.

He tried to shoo the feelings away as he made his way to see Dr Jugovach. The last thing he needed was more guilt on top of the already maddening press of trauma welling in his head. Dr Jugovach greeted him with a clipboard and an easy smile and led him to the same room in total, understanding silence. Today, his desk by the corner was piled high with patient notes and documents.

After making himself comfortable, Jugovach scribbled a few words before studying Roy from beneath his glasses.

"How are you feeling today, Roy?"

Annoyed. Irritable. The one moment that had uplifted his morning, brusquely dashed by Mimi, and now he was bubbling with nerves for his impending date, if that was even still going on. He shared his latest burdens, cutting and chopping his story so there was no mention of the spy, and Jugovach dutifully wrote on his clipboard.

"And do you think you were overly blunt?"

"What?"

"You seem conflicted about whether your behaviour was justified. Do you believe it was?"

"I don't hate my aunt or anything. I just resent how much she's sticking her nose in my business. She thinks she's trying to help, but she's only making things more difficult for me." He slouched in the chair. "Mother even tried to warn me about her behaviour when she first arrived, and I brushed her off. But I guess… I guess I _was_ mean to her."

"So what will you do about it?"

"Find her. Say sorry. Ask her to be more respectful of my boundaries without resorting to insults."

"That sounds like a fine idea," Jugovach said. There was a brief pause before he said, "And how about your sleep?"

"Been tossing and turning recently. Still having nightmares on occasion."

He nodded. "I'm just trying to figure out what triggers them. If we can possibly remove the negative reaction to the stimuli, then we can work on helping you to recover fully." His eyes peered over the brim of his glasses. "How does that sound?"

Still unsure about sharing, Roy mumbled, "So I guess that watchful waiting isn't working?"

"There's still time, but I figured a more immediate treatment would be more beneficial in your… unique circumstances."

Roy snorted. Being a prince was certainly unique, all right.

Jugovach continued. "You say you have repetitive dreams and delusions of your kidnapping. Is that all?"

No. Not since Diantha came back. Now she had a permanent place in his life, dreams and reality, like a hand always clasped around his shoulder. But telling Jugovach was a death sentence – for his family, at least.

"Why?"

"The subject of recurrent nightmares is usually a stress causer."

So even his evil grandma was coming to bat? He sank further in the chair and groaned, staring at the ceiling. Out of shame and out of sworn secrecy, he decided to warp the truth.

"I… I also see the dead, coming to haunt me."

"Anyone specific?"

He gulped, refusing to let his burning eyes show. "My… my grandmother."

Jugovach took a moment. "Diantha Schreave? Interesting." He scribbled. "What does she do?"

"I don't remember. She's just there."

At the moment's silence, Roy straightened his head. Jugovach had folded his hands on his lap, the clipboard on the table.

"This is very unusual," he said. "Her Majesty passed before you were born."

"Yeah," Roy agreed. "But, you know… Dad always brings her up this time of year… and I've seen pictures of her. Young, and… stuff."

"Indeed."

Silence.

Jugovach took up the clipboard again. "Are you sure she does nothing? She is idle?"

Diantha cackling. Diantha with poison dripping down her mouth. Diantha chaining Avianna to the chair, forever more. It congealed inside him like thick blood, threatening to drown him. This was too personal. This was digging too deeply. He rubbed his arms just as the delusion crawled back to him, curling at the sides of his vision.

"No." Roy stood up abruptly, keen to leave Jugovach and Diantha behind. "I want to end the session."

Jugovach tilted his head, but nodded. "Very well. Please feel free to visit me when you feel comfortable."

Roy scampered from the room shivering tip to toe, and desperate to distract himself from his grandmother's hold.

 **=#=#=#=**

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By the time Roy reached the breakfast hall, practicing some deep breathing exercises and focusing on the rumble in his stomach, Diantha had slithered back into the recess of his mind, and he thanked his stars as he shovelled in a bowl of cereal during breakfast. Murmurs spread like warm butter, polite and delicate and never loud enough to raise the hairs on Roy's skin.

As he was about to take his leave, a hand caught his arm. On instinct, he snatched away, only to come face-to-face with Ambrosia. Her smiling face faltered into a frown, the dress that covered every inch of her skin long enough to trail on the floor.

"I-I just wanted to make sure you were still okay for the date this afternoon," she asked. "You seem… lost in thought."

"No, I'm fine," he said, surprised at how much of a truth it felt. Avoiding Mimi at breakfast had cost him a lot of his mental resources, enough that he forgot temporarily about his nightmares. "I'm looking forward to it."

She gave him a sweet smile and let him on his way.

It appeared Aunt Mimi hadn't mentioned a word to her afterward either, as she was still ready to go when Roy arrived at her room later that afternoon. Artfully wrapped her in designer jodhpurs, a luxurious fluffy scarf, and glittering jewellery, she had not forgotten the classic 'horse rider' look with sturdy boots and a bark brown tweed jacket.

"You look great," Roy said. "Compliments to your maids."

Ambrosia looked away. "Oh, no, I chose these from my outfits. But thank you."

 _Solitary,_ like her maids had said. Ambrosia didn't seem any different, but he wasn't about to finalise the thought, so he tucked his impressions away, trying to face her as a blank canvas.

"Ready to meet the horses?"

Ambrosia nodded with that angelic smile. "Absolutely. I've never ridden a horse for very long, only done photoshoots with them, but I can't wait to try."

"You'll love my boy, Pottery. Most beautiful of horses."

"I'm sure he is," agreed Ambrosia.

Roy smirked. She had no idea.

At the stables to the west of the garden, the horses had been prepped with saddles and riding gear. They put on kneepads and elbow protectors just as the stable master led the two horses out.

The first was Ambrosia's ride, a dark blue mare with a coat like liquid shadow. It whinnied on approach.

"What a cutie!" Ambrosia crooned. "What's her name?"

"This is Unicorn, Gail's horse," said Roy. "She won't mind if we borrow her."

"Unicorn?" Ambrosia laughed. "That's a typical Princess Gail name."

"On a not-so-typical horse. She really doesn't look much like a unicorn, more like night in horse form. But she's really nice with strangers. Sometimes, we put a horn on her head when Gail wants to go full ham with the make-believe."

The stable master led out the second horse. Squatter than Unicorn, the spotted brown stallion neighed like a dying hyena, a fat tongue whipping over its rows of unaligned yellow teeth. The mane was the colour of a fresh turd and not far from the smell, either.

Roy cooed, petting its head. "This is Pottery, my gallant stallion."

Ambrosia stopped dead, staring open-mouthed. "Oh, he's so…"

"Beautiful? I know. You can stop staring."

She giggled, covering her mouth. "Why the name _Pottery?"_

"Because he's the colour of wet clay. Sort of. If you squint." Roy shrugged. "Ask my fourteen-year-old self, I thought it was hilarious. Also, my parents didn't let me name him _Pooper Scooper."_

That sent her into a fit of more giggles, her smile too wide for her hand to cover. Before long, they had reined the horses and put on riding helmets, Roy holding onto both Pottery and Unicorn's reins, and set off on a mellow stride down the flat acre land. Ambrosia didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, which fidgeted between the flat of the horse's back, to her sides, to holding the edge of the saddle. Her booted toes twitched beneath the stirrup.

"Something wrong?"

"Hmm?" she said, then flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm distracted."

Yes, _distracted._ By what? External commitments?

If Roy was being honest, Ambrosia was right besides Luna with how suspect she was, and with Luna proving this morning that her double secret life didn't involve any rebels, and Maeve out of the running completely, Ambrosia had become the number one spot for least suspicious of spying. She just didn't have the temperament – too soft and reserved and polite – to be capable of something like that. But he didn't want to discount her immediately, not when he'd been so easily fooled before.

And he wasn't about to make the same mistake again.

"Hold onto the reins, at least. Don't want to fall off."

She reached forward, clasping the reins, and blurted, "Please don't let go."

"I won't. Just need to make sure you're anchored."

They trotted down until the gardens evened out, the horses shaking their tails out in the crisp breeze. Ambrosia released a hand to pet the horse on the neck.

"You're right. She is lovely," she said. "You're a very competent rider."

"I guess. I've been riding since I was young. Not really because I enjoy it, but because it's a good skill to learn. If I want to make an elaborate entrance for a march, or something." He petted Pottery's neck with a grin. "Though I really only ride good ole' Pottery here."

"He seems very used to having you."

"Well, this poor thing has been bearing my weight for five out of his seven years of life." He nodded his head at Unicorn. "She's only four."

"Mmm." Ambrosia stroked Unicorn's mane. "One time last year, I did a photoshoot with this beautiful white Arabian. She was only two, and by goodness, she was stunning."

With Ambrosia next to her, it was probably a stunning-fest.

"For a magazine?"

"Yes. _Illéa's Horse."_ She saddened. "The poor horse was treated so poorly—" She cut herself off, and then seemed to reboot entirely, smiling again. "Have you ever done a magazine shoot?"

"Whoa, whoa. Back up. The horse was mistreated? By whom?"

"It… it wasn't as bad as I make it seem—"

"Mistreating a horse is terrible, no matter the extremity. Who did it? The owner?"

If a person could wilt like a flower, Ambrosia did. Her voice was so quiet Roy could barely hear her.

"My mother."

Of course, Macy Grace Miller. He expected no less from the flamboyant, calculating witch he had met at the families' banquet. Ambrosia had all but cowered under that woman's gaze – it was no wonder she would be cruel to animals, too.

"What did she do?"

Ambrosia was quiet for a while. Roy almost thought she hadn't heard him speak until she mumbled. "The horse was skittish during the shoot. She slapped it to get it to comply with the photographer."

His chest roared with anger. "She _physically hit_ the horse? That's— that's deplorable!"

"I know." She drew in a sharp breath, and then smiled. "It's done. Have you ever done a magazine photoshoot?"

The change was so jarring Roy nearly fell off. She obviously didn't want to talk about her, no matter how pressing the subject seemed to be. It leaked into every aspect of Ambrosia's life like a broken pipe.

And then… if Macy Grace Miller was willing to hit an animal so easily…

He tossed the thoughts out. This was obviously not great date talk, and Ambrosia was squirming at the words, so he embraced the change of subject and regaled her about the one time he shot for a magazine – and accidentally mowed down the lighting equipment. Ambrosia found it amusing enough, laughing at the right places and chatting back at others, but Roy felt that pall around them like a change in the weather. That subject left unspoken.

They rode until they were nearly at the wall to stop, the gilded spires pricking the high mist. Ambrosia reached out and grazed a gloved hand over the smooth white surface.

"Everything here is so beautiful," she said. "Even the walls."

"Mmm. Yes. Can't argue with that sweet, sweet brick."

Ambrosia laughed again, one hand steady against the wall, the other failing to hide her open mouth again. "You are funny, Roy."

"Really? Every time I make a joke, my dad tells me not to quit my day job."

She laughed again, more freely this time. Still, her hand hovered.

"Can I ask a weird question?" Roy said.

"Of course."

"Why do you do that?" He pointed at her hand. "Covering your mouth."

"Oh." She flushed a little. "Well, it's impolite to show the inside of my mouth, so I do it to cover it when I laugh…"

"It's impolite to show you find something funny?" Roy said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, if that's what you want to do. I think your laugh is so nice you shouldn't have to feel like you need to cover up."

Her neck turned crimson. "Oh, you're just saying that…"

"I mean it." He grinned. "Besides, I laugh like pig's snort attached to a bugle, so if you're impolite, I'm spitting-on-an-occupied-hearse levels of impolite."

"That's not true," Ambrosia protested, with some real fire behind her words. "Your laugh is creamy—"

He'd heard many things, but _creamy_ was not one of them. Roy's cheeks flared just as Ambrosia's blush worsened, and she flung out her hands to cover her face. "Oh, gosh, I-I mean, you have a nice laugh, but it's not like I think it's smooth like cream—"

Then Roy really did laugh. He gripped the reins tighter and threw his head back. "That is hilarious!"

Then Ambrosia grinned, and her laugh echoed from her throat. A true high-pitched giggle, girly and fun and all the good things about the world. It was addictive and satisfying, an unforgettable sound in a moment of pure quiet. She pressed her hands to her cheeks as she wheezed out.

"I can't believe I said that!"

"Neither can I!"

Ambrosia flung her head back to laugh.

Then her leg twisted in the stirrup as her body slid off the saddle. Without the reins to anchor her, she flexed into a weird position. Her laughter warped into a scream, but Roy didn't reach for her quickly enough.

She landed with a thud on the grass, yelping. Unicorn and Pottery startled at her sudden dismount. Roy pulled the reins of both of them away, leading them until they were out of distance from her, before dismounting and rushing over.

"Are you okay?" He turned around – as promised by his father, guards had wandered close to keep an eye. "Guards! Help!" They started to run.

Her face crumpled into a wince. "I think— my arm. It really hurts. I-I landed on it."

"It could be broken," he muttered. "Take your jacket off, quick. We don't want the sleeve to exacerbate any swelling."

But Ambrosia stumbled to a stand. "No, I'm okay."

He reached out. "But you could be seriously hurt—"

" _Don't touch me!"_

He flinched. Her face softened immediately.

"I-I'm fine, Roy. Please. I'm okay." She yelped and grimaced, other hand flying to her frozen arm.

Roy didn't approach her, but solemnly gestured back to the palace. "If it still hurts beyond a little ache, something is wrong. Will you at least come with me to the infirmary? The doctors can check it out."

She hesitated, longer than Roy would've liked, before loosing a short, shallow sigh. "Okay."

The guards escorted the horses back when Roy dismissed them, determined to help Ambrosia to the infirmary. The walk back was silent, with Ambrosia cradling her left arm, and Roy stayed a respectful distance away from her, mind whirring at her sharpness. The only time they'd touched one another was during his party… when they were both drunk. Had Ambrosia always been this withdrawn?

Macy had something to do with it. He knew it, deep into his bones. Ambrosia had been awkward, but not hostile, before she showed up.

By the time they reached the infirmary, tears were welling in her eyelids, but she staunchly refused to so much as whimper. Dr Nagi ushered them inside, plonking Ambrosia on one of the beds, as Roy explained the fall.

"Sounds like it could be dislocated. I need to remove the jacket to prevent the swelling from cutting off circulation."

Ambrosia's dark blue eyes fell to Roy with hesitation, as if fearing his input. He read the expression, and, hurt inside, held up his hands in surrender and backed out of the ward.

"Let me know how it goes."

Ambrosia didn't call him back.

Roy wasn't sure how it was supposed to make him feel. Guilty? Angry? He understood Ambrosia's need for space, but to the point where she isolated herself? She was in pain, ripping herself apart, and Roy didn't know how long he could stand to watch.

This couldn't be a ruse. This had to be the true Ambrosia, not some flighty trait invented by the spy.

Roy shoved his hands in his pockets and meandered back to his parlour. He wasn't at all surprised to see Rudy dusting the curtains, standing on a little step to reach the tallest places. Unusually, he was mumbling to himself, and loose locks splintered free from his ponytail.

He didn't even hear Roy come in until Roy cleared his throat.

"Good lord!" He spun around. "Your Highness! Sorry. You scared me. Goodness."

Sinking into the sofa, Roy raised an eyebrow. "Are you… okay?"

"I'm fine!" Rudy said, voice high. "Absolutely wonderful. Just cleaning. Very therapeutic."

"You sound like you swallowed helium."

"What? No, I don't," he said, even higher-pitched. "I'm great! You finished your date early – is everything all right with Ambrosia?"

Roy shooed her face away. "Nice try. What's wrong?"

"Nothing— oh, it's…" He sighed. "… really, it's not important. I'm just being… an idiot."

"Yeah, because _that_ sounds like nothing."

Rudy furrowed his eyebrows. "You have more important things to worry about."

"You are literally vibrating with worry, and that's important to me. What's wrong?" He grinned. "Something about a certain guard have you confused?"

To Roy's surprise, Rudy flushed. "That's… actually the problem, yes."

"Well, I was only joking, but" – he toed off his shoes and crossed his legs, ogling Rudy like a puppy hungry for food – "I was also dead serious. What's up?"

"You're not allowed to freak out, or get overexcited, okay?" Rudy pointed the duster at Roy – _so_ menacing. His cheeks were progressively reddening. "You have to agree before I continue."

"Yes, I agree. Tell me."

"Don't make a big deal out of anything either—"

"By order of the prince," Roy cut across, "you must tell me."

Rudy grumbled something before replacing the duster on the TV stand and coming to sit by Roy. He swallowed a long, large breath.

"I-I was thinking of trying it again. Asking Joseph out."

Happiness burst through the anger, destroyed the rage. It was so nice to be able to feel good for someone else. Roy threw up his arms. " _Woooooo!"_

"I-I told you not to scream!"

"… _Woo,"_ Roy whispered, but he couldn't dilute the grin on his face. It was already starting to hurt, but as all the congregating darkness dissipated into a small flicker, he was so pleased Rudy trusted him enough to share his little joys.

Rudy shook his head and laughed. "That's better, I guess."

"I'm happy for you, bro. What changed your mind?"

"It's… been a gradual shift, I suppose. I've never not wanted to date Joseph because of who he is or anything, it was solely the circumstances. I think the biggest obstacle in a potential relationship was you, but since you're so keen that you've given us a ship name, for goodness sake, I've been reconsidering." He shrugged. "I also realised that… he's not going to wait around forever, and it's not fair to drag him along. He's given me time to process and think, and that's been kind of him and I appreciate it immensely, so now I'm… ready to move forwards again. I suppose I just thought, _why not?_ instead of, _why?"_

Roy clapped. "A rousing Oscar acceptance speech, that is."

Rudy mock-bowed. "Thank you. I practiced." His face was deadpan. "Seriously. That's probably what I'm going to say to him. I was rehearsing just now."

"Add a few more tears or something. It'll win him right over."

But Rudy fidgeted his hands together, completely ignoring Roy's comment. "How the heck do you do it, though? Ask people on dates? I figured you'd be a master at it by now."

"Are… you serious? You've never asked someone out?"

"No. The other person has always asked me, and Joseph is no exception." He placed his hands on his head to stop the trembling, but it only succeeded in messing up his neat hair. "What is the procedure? How does it work?"

Roy bit his tongue to stop laughing. He made it sound like a medical surgery. Composed Rudy, unravelled by a question. "It's not rocket science. It's not a process. _Hey, would you like to go out for dinner?_ is usually how it goes."

"What if he doesn't want to go for dinner?"

"Ask if he wants to do something else, then."

"What if he prefers a rigid plan, or to stick with a schedule? Or what if he just likes to go with the flow? I shouldn't limit him by asking him to dinner. Maybe I should be vaguer about our intended activities?" He gasped. "What if he says no? What if I'm too late, and he's already moved on? What if I embarrass myself?"

"Come on, bro. _I'm_ the one that loses his mind when it comes to dating, not you. And if my awkward, dorky, Schreave-blush ass can ask ten plus ladies on individual dates in the space of three months, you can ask one dude a simple question." He waved his hands. "Besides, that man would hug a cactus naked for you. No way would he decline."

"He might."

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

"It's just obvious." Roy laughed. "Relax. You're going to keel over before you even see him."

"Sorry if we're not all collected about this sort of thing."

Roy relaxed into the sofa again, grinning that smug thing he knew Rudy hated. "After all this time, and Durudy's going to sail again."

Rudy snorted, falling back into the sofa too. "That's still a terrible ship name."

"Pffft. My ship-name skills are legendary. And I think you'll find," he paused, "that the SS Roybrosia, Roymilla, Royuna, Roylly, Royve and Roylise agree, thank you."

"You just stuck _Roy_ in front of their names."

"… I mean, only got three letters to work with here."

Rudy chuckled and stood up, reclaiming the feather duster. "If that floats your boat, Your Highness. I'm committing to ask him when we're both next free."

Roy rubbed his hands together. "What if you just _happened_ to be sent on a break the same time he _happened_ to be on break, too?"

"How fortunate I would be," Rudy said, monotone. He wasn't even looking at Roy when he added, "And stop that obnoxious grinning."

"Sorry, but the hype train has left the station, and it's heading for Durudy town! Toot toot, bastards!"

Rudy made a noise of disapproval, but Roy didn't miss the corner of his mouth tilting upwards.

"Speaking of Roybrosia," Rudy said. "I really didn't expect you to see you until later. Did something happen?"

Euphoria draining, Roy summarised what happened as Rudy continued to work. By the end, the valet seemed more inclined to sit with Roy on the sofa again than flit about the room.

"That fits with what her maids said." He replaced the duster on the stool and came over to Roy. "Perhaps it's a front?"

"I thought about it, but… I just don't think it is. Ambrosia has been meek and polite the whole competition, and then it's suddenly thrown out the window when her mother arrives." When he remembered Macy had hurt the horse, all that anger came coursing back through him. "It had to be something about her. I know it. If anyone's capable of being a rebel, it's that woman."

"I know she was horrible," the sofa bounced when Rudy sat down, "but it doesn't automatically mean she's a Southern Rebel. Most of them believe in a better cause, even if their methodology is extreme, but Ambrosia's mother strikes me as a person who only cares about herself."

Roy crossed his arms and groaned. "Yeah, you're right. I just… I feel so awful for Ambrosia. She barely wanted to let Dr Nagi take a look at her, let alone me."

"I think it would be difficult to let you witness her in a state of weakness. That goes for the other girls, too," said Rudy. "They want to impress you, not look vulnerable."

"I guess," Roy mumbled. He'd hoped they're surpassed the stage of acting through façades by now. It wasn't like he was holding back anymore. What they saw was what they got.

Rudy resumed cleaning. "Ambrosia's in a strange mental state right now. It's best to let her be. She'll come talk to you when she's ready, if she's ready at all."

"But… if she never opens up to me…" This was all so scrambled. "I'm not saying she _should_ be obligated to, but it isn't really a trait I find feasible in a person I want to date…"

"Absolutely. That's your right. If you want to eliminate her, then you should. As it is her right if she chooses never to share." Rudy raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to eliminate her?"

"… No."

"Then wait it out."

How the heck was Rudy's love life so tumultuous when his advice was so sound? Roy rested his head on the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling, the paintings moving under his focus. If Ambrosia wanted time and privacy, she would have it, hopefully not at the expense of their relationship.

Roy shut his eyes, content to let the sound of Rudy's dusting calm his frazzled conscience. "Well, at least I've spent time with all the remaining Elite now."

"I'm sure Mimi isn't thrilled to be out of the job."

Luckily, he didn't have to answer the question, someone knocked on the door.

Roy jumped up, thinking it might be Ambrosia, or Dr Nagi at least, but it was Hwan at the door. The unmistakable twinkle in his eye made him look like an evil overlord planning to spike his enemies' drinks with laughing gas.

"Jun boy! What are you doing, moping in here?"

Roy let him in, and Rudy took it as a sign to slip out.

"I'm not moping, _Oji,"_ he said. "… Much."

"Ah, the power of hormones! Giving you all that teenage angst!"

"… I'm nearly twenty."

"Exactly! Which is what I've come to talk to you about." He clasped Roy on the shoulder. "What colour do you want your napkins?"

"… What?"

"For your birthday tomorrow-tomorrow, of course! I'm organising your party!"

Oh. Right. He'd completely forgotten there'd be some sort of celebration. Even though it was two days away. It wasn't like it was clamouring for attention with all the other things he had going on in his life.

Disappointment settled in his stomach, and he said, "Make the napkins as dark and brooding as my soul, then."

"Bright pink it is!" Hwan burst out laughing.

Roy huffed. "At least Gail would appreciate it."

"She's making streamers and hats for you. You should know they are also all bright pink, so those napkins would match spectacularly."

"Well, if it suits her fine, it suits me too." He cocked his head. "Aren't you supposed to make it a surprise?"

"I wanted to make sure I got your taste right, _the prince,"_ he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Mimi was going to take care of it, but she's very out-of-sorts today for some reason. After lunch today she mixed up her cerulean and azure nail varnishes!"

Dread clenched Roy hard, and he forced out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, right. Well, er, yeah. Pink napkins for days."

"All right." Hwan nodded. "Can't wait until you see what the Gail and the Elite girls have put together for you! It's hilarious!" He swaggered back to the door, whistling.

"Hey!" Roy called. "What do mean? What are you planning?"

"Now _that_ is a surprise."

He winked and laughed his way out.

* * *

 **A/N:** who's the absolute bumblenugget that forgot she was going abroad this weekend... me... its me... Luckily I have found decent connection so here I am, forging onwards with my weekly updates. :D

Keeping it short today, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "Hwan grumbled and gave Ji-Yu ten dollars."


	60. To Kiss and Make Up

The next day, Roy didn't stir until he heard his bedroom door close.

He shied under the covers until something probed at his feet. Groaning, Roy peered over the cover to see Rudy poking his duvet like it was some sort of alien monster. There was a little note in his hand.

"Ah, he awakens." Rudy smirked. "Good morning, Your Highness."

Roy shoved his face into the pillow. "Whhyyouhere?"

"It's nine o'clock."

Already? He squinted at the clock on his bedside table. Three minutes past nine. It felt like he'd only slept a couple of hours. Last night has been less tumultuous than of recent, but still the same nightmare plagued his dreaming headspace, and the echoes of Diantha's laugh clung to him like sweat.

 _Not now,_ he begged. _Not today, of all days. Just let me enjoy this one._

"Breakfast is being held later today, but you have other things to do, so up you get. I'll run you a lavender bath, and I'll even add some golden dust as it's your birthday today."

Roy sat up and rubbed the crud from his eyes. "That's supposed to be my present?"

"My gift to you is my mere presence, Your Highness. The dust is simple generosity." After placing the note on Roy's desk, he paused at the bathroom threshold to scrutinise Roy. "… I think I'll prepare you a facemask as well."

"Are you trying to imply my face looks awful?"

"I'm not even trying to imply it. It _does_ look awful." He narrowed his eyes. "Did you sleep?"

"Sort of. Had some nightmares." He waved him off. "Go prepare my golden dust bath, slave."

Rudy moved into the bathroom, but the scowl could practically be heard in his voice. "It's only because it's your birthday that you can get away with that."

Roy grinned. Now _that_ made him feel a little better.

The note turned out to be a reminder from Sashi. She was away today for, of all things, a motorcycle convention, but she wanted Roy to announce the philanthropy projects since they were approaching the end of the Selection. The lavender-gold bath relieved the knots in Roy's body, and the cucumbers softened his tensing eyes. By the time Roy was finally dressed, it was nearly ten. He wandered to the dining hall, chest thrumming with anticipation.

A great cheer rose up at his appearance. The attending court, the six Elite ladies, and his family, stood with a rousing chant of the happy birthday song. Roy's face became progressively redder as he made his way to his seat.

"I told you he'd be red-faced!" Hwan pointed at Roy, eyes alight with glee. "Someone owes me ten dollars!"

Young-Sook snorted. " _You told me he wouldn't be red. That means you owe_ me _ten dollars."_

His parents engulfed him in a hug, and an attendant placed a large stack of pancakes with maple syrup, his traditional birthday morning treat, in front of him.

"You're going to love my birthday present, Jun!" Gail chirruped, clapping. "It's really good!"

He passed a glance with the Elite girls, most of who in deep chatter. Curiosity burnt his insides out since Hwan's admittance yesterday. He had no idea what to expect.

"Speech!" Hwan yelled, slamming a spoon against his plate. "Speech from the prince!"

The room quietened. With nothing prepared, Roy stumbled to stand and racked his brain for words.

"Thanks for the birthday wishes. I can't wait to see what this year brings."

As he perused the waiting people, his eyes naturally fell towards the table for the Selected. No absentees, not even Ambrosia, whose arm was in a sling. She didn't meet Roy's honest gaze, instead pinning it to the others. It looked like her shoulder was okay, at least.

And Mimi. The only one who wasn't participating in the jubilance, Mimi's attention was solidly fixed to her plate of cured meats, cheese and hot croissants. He swallowed, chest buzzing, and focused on the tables of willing subjects.

"Firstly I'm going to take this opportunity to personally thank the Elite, who are a constant source of fun and joy in my life. I don't really know how I lived without you until now." People cooed, and he barrelled on. "I also want to official announce the start of the Elite philanthropy projects. As you know, each Elite will be asked to research and present an idea that will be televised live to the Illéan people. These will take place after New Year, so please don't worry too much about it yet, but preparation is key. Make sure all ideas are approved by Sashi first."

The din of the Elite's table wavered. This was still a contest. They were still competing against one another. Someone had to win.

"Secondly, but not lastly, I want to thank my family…" He faced them, unable to help the smile that tilted his face. "For being there from me, from start to finish."

Mimi's eyes flickered up, but still, she didn't look at him. Guilt ate him away.

Merrick guffawed loudly. "Where is my and your mother's personal thank you? We've had to put up with you all this time!"

Hwan and Ji-Yu spluttered out a laugh. Roy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks _Appa_ and _Omma_. Otherwise," he addressed the crowd, "please enjoy the day with me."

Another round of applause.

As Roy left the dining hall, expecting to head for a special interview with Clarity and Rainerd, a hand stopped him just as he made down the hallway.

"Roy."

Mimi croaked like a shy frog. So quiet, he almost didn't hear her.

She gestured to the nearest room. "Can we talk?"

Time to face the music. That same guilt tingled up his spine as he gestured inside. When he took a sofa, Mimi sat down on the lip of the opposite chair.

Then she burst into tears.

It was like a waterfall down her face. The perfect, dark lines of eyeliner and the even sweep of her mascara, ruined. Red patches bled onto her cheeks. She snorted, long and gungy.

"I-I'm sooooooooo sorry, Roy! My wonderful, strong nephew! I'm so sorry I got on your nerves!" She collapsed on the sofa and shoved her face into a cushion, wailing. "I was trying so hard to help you that I didn't even see how annoyed you were getting. I really jammed my nose right into your business and that was so horrible for you! I-I'm so sorry!"

How could she sound so melodramatic, yet her tears be genuine and the beg in her voice authentic? He slouched down the sofa with her, avoiding her giant heels from accidentally stabbing him in the chest with their flailing.

"It's okay, Aunt Mimi—"

"But it's not! I feel so guilty!" She raised her head to wipe her cheeks in vain. Black make-up ran parallel to the tears. Her make-up imprinted the cushion. "You must have been bottling it up for months and months!"

"You've only been here for about three weeks—"

"I totally don't blame you for blowing your top! You must be so stressed, you poor thing. I made it worse. Can you ever forgive me?"

Jugovach's words rolled back into his head, and Roy held up his hands. "It's already forgiven. I… might've been a little harsh the other day."

She produced a hanky to blow her nose, cutting Roy off long enough for him to cringe. After tucking it back into her pocket, she nodded. "I-It was harsh. But I needed to hear it. I got your message, loud and clear."

"Are you sure?" he said warily. "I just… I asked you last time to stop interfering, and you ignored me."

"I-I know." She sniffled. "Oh, Roy. I guess I was just having so much fun playing with your Selection that I thought you were too. At first I thought you just meant you didn't want immediate direction from me, but now I see you just wanted me to stay away."

"Yes," he said, resisting the relief that edged onto his tongue. "Yes, that's how I feel. I don't mind coming to you for advice or something, but… not more than that."

"That's totally fair. So fair, in fact, it's fairer than a carousel, a Ferris wheel and a cotton candy stand in a park in summer time. I… liked feeling useful to you."

"You're my cool aunt. You don't have to be useful." Roy smiled, hoping it was genuine as he felt. "I cherish you always."

She opened up her arms. "Oh, come give me a hug, you little softie!"

He fell into her embrace, and she squeezed like she would never let go.

"Ugh," she said, her breath curling over his ear. "You're not even little anymore. Not even a teenager. You're a man."

"It doesn't feel much different than being a teenager."

"Because you're already so mature," she cooed. "Oh, I think my mascara has run down your shirt, I'm sorry."

He extricated himself. "It's okay. It'll wash."

Mimi's smile filled him with joy. She had that ability – her mood was like a beacon, her happiness everyone's happiness.

"You're such a good person, Roy. I just know those girls are lucky to have you."

"Thanks, Aunt Mimi."

In a split second she was standing again, flexing her muscles. "It's high time I go add my spectacular touch to your party, don't you think? Your grandfather couldn't tell his hot pink serviettes from fuchsia napkins the last time I saw him, and that's a desperate call for help if I've ever heard one!"

Roy used the sofa to prop himself back. "Aren't hot pink and fuchsia the same colour?"

"Jun Fitzroy!" she tsked. "Twenty years old and can't tell the difference! But don't worry, you'll learn tonight!"

She zoomed out like her feet were made of wheels, leaving only a trace of her perfume.

"Okay. Bye," he snorted.

"Wait!" Her head popped around the door. "One more thing."

"What is it?"

"We're having mistletoe at your party, okay?"

 _Mistletoe?_ He dropped his jaw open. "B-But what if I get caught under it with the Elite?"

"Then either give 'em a smooch or a gentle peck on the cheek. You'll be fine!" She rubbed her hands together, her eyes glinting. "I plan to push your lovey-dovey parents beneath it if it's the last thing I do!"

Then she zoomed off again, and this time, she didn't come back.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

 _Mistletoe is fine,_ he said. _Totally cool._

 _I've never really kissed anyone sober_.

Roy couldn't believe he was making his way to the library on his birthday. After a wave of interviews and a photoshoot, he had decided to take the wise prince route and finish off a few pieces of legislation before the party. Limited knowledge about embassies, however, had stunted his ability to absorb the details. Heading to the library for an in-depth book about it seemed like the best idea.

The Christmas decorations were making him think about the mistletoe. Tinsel and baubles hung from every surface, dripped down every wall. The fat Christmas tree in the foyer was about three times his height and four times his bling, and the lights were so bright they could summon far off aliens with Morse code.

The library was no exception. Though the books and shelves had been left untouched, the tables had been decorated with faux candles and holiday wreathes. The palace librarian's Santa hat drooped down her frame as she directed Roy towards the back with all the other reference books. The escort guard waited by the tinsel-leaden entrance.

The mistletoe was so distracting. _I really haven't kissed anyone sober._

There was Riley, but that was so many years ago now. It hadn't been too serious then. There was Levinia, but that felt far less innocent. She was kissing to seduce him, to win him as a prince, not as a lover. Although he cared for both of them infinitely, the circumstances today were so different. Most of the time he was smashed, which didn't help.

Aside from them both, aside from embracing another woman in a drunken stupor, not once had he kissed someone and truly meant it. The Elite were the next step forwards. This was the next base in their relationship.

The first kiss could turn to many.

But the first kiss could also be the last.

He tried to de-weed his mind of such thoughts as he approached the shelves at the back of the room, imposing in their size and stature. Deep, ebony wood, carved with elegant whorls, brimmed with tomes and dusty measures, relics once past.

"—sure he won't. You know Roy. He's nice about these things."

On instinct, Roy slid behind a bookshelf and peered through the rows.

Elise and Ambrosia were on the other side, sitting on the desks facing the other direction. Elise had an arm around Ambrosia's uninjured shoulder, and it was evident by her comforting voice that Ambrosia was crying.

"H-He will, I-I know it," Ambrosia said through sniffles.

"I promise you, Amb, it won't make him see you differently. He really cares about everyone. You're not lesser for it."

Ambrosia gasped. "How am I supposed to perform later when I can't even look him in the eye? What if he's going to make a big spectacle at his party and eliminate me then?" She hiccupped. "I-I can't be eliminated. I just can't. I have to stay."

Elise's voice soothed like warm butter on toast. "Roy's too awkward to deliberately eliminate you in front of everyone."

 _I resent that,_ Roy thought, even though half of him chimed agreement.

"Awkward? He's anything but, don't you think?" Ambrosia said. "Oh, gosh, I called him _creamy_ on my date with him."

"That's one way to describe him," Elise snorted. "He won't hate you, doesn't hate you, and probably thinks you hate him, because that's how that boy's mind works."

 _I resent that, too,_ he thought, also chiming in agreement.

More sniffles. More gasps. With her good arm, Ambrosia produced a tissue from her pocket and wiped her face. "Thank you, Elise. I knew I could always count on you to confide in."

"Of course. Everyone gets down." Standing up, she finally turned – Roy ducked down so she didn't see him. "Just… feel better, okay? You want me to stay?"

"No, I'm okay. I'll just… I'll join you in a moment."

Elise skipped out of the library. Roy didn't dare move until the door at the front clamoured shut, and his heart finally stopped banging around in his ribcage.

What the heck were they talking about?

He poked his head up again. Ambrosia was facing him, wiping her face. Blotchy tears streaked down to her chin, and for a moment, she reminded him of those tragic paintings of fallen angels.

Then her eyes met his.

He squawked and fell backwards, knocking his head against the shelves. Books tumbled. _Idiot, Roy!_ Ambrosia rushed around, eyes wide even as she knelt to help him.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He rubbed his head – that was _painful._ "Just a bump, is all."

Her body turned rigid. "Were you… listening in?"

"Ah… _no_ …?"

"You were!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" He righted himself, busying his hands by shoving the books back into the shelf. "I came to get a book to help me with some work, and I just happened to chance upon you and Elise…"

Her face burned. "Oh, gosh…" Tears welled up again. "I-I'm sorry about the date— I didn't mean— you were really nice to try help me—"

"It's okay," he hushed. "I don't know what's going on with you, but if you need to take some time…"

"I-I don't like being touched," she blurted. "When I'm drunk, I lose all sense of self, and sometimes I don't mind holding hands with people I absolutely trust, but… when I'm sober…"

Roy winced. "I get that, don't worry. I respect your space—"

She sank to the ground. "Oh, but Roy, I really freaked out on the date, and I just… please don't send me home. Please. Not even for Christmas." The pleading in her voice cut straight into his chest.

He was about to reply, but a voice cut across. The Santa hat librarian. She was watching them from around a shelf.

"Please keep it down in the libra— _oh."_

Roy moved to block Ambrosia. "I'm sorry. We're nearly done here."

Santa hat librarian legged it so fast she could've been an Olympic sprinter.

When he turned back, Ambrosia was palming her cheeks. He jammed a thumb towards the door. "Can we talk somewhere else?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

They slipped out of the library, avoiding the patrols and other guards, Roy's escort for the day straying a respectful distance behind. Roy ushered Ambrosia into a small supply cupboard, a cosy space filled with steel shelves of buckets, mops, and all number of cleaning products. Two footstools were worn on the surface, but Roy and Ambrosia sat on them anyway.

"Can't get any more private than this," he said. "Listen, I don't want to eliminate you."

Her head flew up. "What?"

"You're not leaving today. Like I said at the Convicting, I want my Selection to be more intimate before I make further decisions. So, no axing unless I believe it's absolutely necessary."

"B-But I yelled at you… during our date…"

"I'd rather you yell at me than feel uncomfortable."

Genuine, sheer gratefulness filled her expression. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"I mean, it's basic human decency, so you don't have to thank me." He smiled. "How's your arm?"

"Better. Dr Nagi relocated it. The joint is still sore though, so I can't move it very much— oh!" She gasped. "I-I haven't even wished you happy birthday. So… happy birthday."

"Thanks." Two people had cried on him today, but Roy wisely decided not to say that. "I'm looking forward to… whatever you and the Elite have planned."

"It's a secret, but I think you'll enjoy it." She clasped her hands together, the joy of the moment vanishing. "Roy, I just… I want you to know how happy I am to be Selected, to have met you."

A blush rose up his cheeks. "I'm glad to have met you, too."

"I really mean it. I can't tell you how grateful I am to be here, to… to have some independence. I know I won't be eighteen until January, but…"

"It's nice to be away from your parents for a while?" he finished.

Her eyes glistened, and she nodded.

"Well, even if I do eliminate you at some point," Roy said, "you're welcome to stay as long as you like. You can spend Christmas with my family."

"Thank you," she whispered. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

Roy could guess.

"Want to help me find a book and read exciting legislation about new embassy laws?"

Ambrosia laughed, teeth on show, hands clasped on lap.

"I would love to."

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

When Roy and Ambrosia finished the work relatively slowly (he suspected both of them were enjoying each other's company too much), and Ambrosia soon left to get ready for the party, Roy went to do the same. Last year, his parents had thrown him a bash in his name, but this year he suspected the party would be a little classier, with the Elite and photographers present.

Dressed in a loose shirt and black jeans, Rudy spritzed some cologne as the finishing touches.

"All ready?"

"Of course," he said.

He went for the door, but Rudy jerked him back. "Close your eyes."

"You're not really gonna' make me do that, are you?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." He didn't sound very apologetic. "It's for the surprise."

The valet guided Roy out from his quarters and into the palace hallways, and he lost track when Rudy spun him around a few times to throw him off. They pattered across carpets and wooden floors, through ballrooms and echoing chambers, until finally Rudy stopped.

Roy opened his eyes.

The small receiving chamber was completely devoid of decoration. The fireplace crackled in the corner, illuminating the dark spots of his family and the Elite's faces.

"Is this a secret Illuminati meeting or something?" he said. "Where are the lights? The pizazz? The ginormous pile of presents befitting the fantastic occasion?"

Ji-Yu nudged Hwan. "Told you he'd react like this."

Hwan grumbled and gave Ji-Yu ten dollars.

"We decided not to have a party this year!" chirruped Merrick. "Instead, we'll all hang out here and enjoy each other's company."

"Oh," said Roy, trying to stop the disappointment bleeding into his voice. "Okay."

Then Mimi burst out laughing.

"Turn around!"

On the other side of the hallway, the doors to the opposite sitting room were wide open. Pink decorations covered every surface. Pink glitter, party poppers, rainbow party hats, hot pink (possibly fuchsia) napkins. A mound of presents the size of him clogged an entire corner, and a banquet table overflowed with punch bowls, cake, finger foods, sandwiches, chocolate and frosted cupcakes.

"Surprise!" everyone cheered.

Roy laughed. "You really got me good!"

They all hustled to the party, Roy more wowed at the effort they'd gone to this year. There was a string of his baby photos hanging across the fireplace, and an entire surface dedicated to framed tutor reports, old drawn pictures, birthday cards, recent selfies. Gold and silver balloons bumped the ceiling and clustered by the doors. Small and cosy, a true mishmash of colours and themes, but exactly what he needed.

His chest welled with affection. For the very first time since he was captured, the darkness receded until it was hardly a speck in his head.

Mimi jacked on the stereo with some classic K-Pop tunes, and music boomed throughout the room. The party was in full swing, even as each Elite came over to wish him happy birthday.

"Never seen you so casual, Roy!" Maeve remarked, sipping on the fruit punch.

"Yes," agreed Ambrosia, smiling. "You're always so formal."

"Have to be here," he said. The Selected had worn casual too, with big, oversized sweaters and fluffy leggings a trend amongst them. "It's nice to kick back a while though, isn't it?"

Elise giggled. "You know what would be great and the total opposite of this? A masquerade!"

"Oh my god, a masquerade!" Maeve cheered. "That was be so much fun! So mysterious!"

Elise clasped Roy's hands. "Can we hold a masquerade ball? Please oh please, it will be a dream come true! Like a real fairy tale!"

Traditionally they held masquerade balls for big, lavish events, such as foreign dignitary visits or charity fundraisers. So many craved the mystery, the exclusivity of a palace-held masquerade ball, but the Elite being the really obvious to him, he wasn't sure there was much point to one.

"I mean, I'll know who you all are, even with masks."

"But that's beside the point!" Elise said. "We get to wear ridiculous, outlandish ball gowns and feel like princesses!"

Ambrosia nodded. "I think it'll be a lovely event. I-If you want to hold one, that is."

It would be fun, just for a night, to pretend he wasn't Prince Roy, dealing with outside forces and inner darkness, but the elusive suitor from a far off land come to win the heart of a beautiful lady.

"Well, the New Year's Day celebration is after Christmas. We could have one then? I'll see if it's feasible."

Elise squealed so loudly she could be heard over the music. "This is going to be awesome!"

She, Ambrosia and Maeve floated away in deep discussion of what to wear. Roy snacked on the chocolate fondue, checking his phone to a flood of messages on social media – and even a text from Barney, wishing him happy birthday and letting him know that Alisa was staying over for Christmas.

"Your Highness." Rudy appeared by his side and held out a brown paper package. "I have to get back to work, but I'd like for you to have this."

Roy shoved the marshmallow into his mouth and eagerly tore into the paper. Inside, delicately wrapped in bubble wrap, was a personalised black mug. _Happy birthday, bro,_ it said in gold, with the date.

"I considered getting you a shot glass," Rudy said, smirking, "but I feel a mug encourages better life choices. Happy birthday."

"Wow, this is great." He brought Rudy in for a hug. "You're the best valet and friend a person could ask for."

"I know," said Rudy. "Please don't cry on my uniform."

They separated, and Roy clasped him on the back. "You sure you won't stay? You're part of my ragtag extended family too, you know."

"As much as I would like to, your bedsheets won't clean themselves." He cleared his throat. "And, er, I believe Officer Durante is on duty at your door this evening."

"Pffft, then what are you standing here for?" Roy shoved him and gave him a thumbs-up. "Get going! You can do this!"

Rudy cracked a smile and slipped away.

"Roy!" Maeve called from the dance floor. "Come dance with us all!"

After tucking the mug away safely, Maeve dragged him onto the makeshift dance floor, really an old pink carpet from Gail's room, to dance with the other girls. No twerking, no trying to be cool. Just Roy, Maeve, Luna, Elise, Lilly, Ambrosia and Camilla. Rainerd and Clarity took shots of them dancing together. The flashes brightened the whole room, sparkled against the silver confetti.

When Roy's limbs began to ache, he took a break by the punch bowl. Merrick and Ji-Yu were muttering to one another, their faces too serious for partying.

"Something wrong?"

Merrick ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing to worry about. A security alarm tripped at the treasury yesterday."

"It's been sorted," said Ji-Yu to him, then to Roy, "It's not rebels."

"Okay," he said, like that explained anything. "Then can you two at least look like you're enjoying yourself?"

"We are, we are," insisted Merrick. "Unfortunately, we can't just turn off being king and queen. It requires our attention all the time."

"Doesn't being a mom and dad count as a full-time job, too?"

Ji-Yu laughed. "You're not wrong. You were quite the handful when you were younger." In a moment of serene genuineness, she patted her belly. "I wonder what next Christmas will be like, with this little one roaming in the world."

"Probably noisy," Merrick said, then grinned. "But I wouldn't have it any other way than getting to spend it with my family." He nudged Roy. "And maybe your wife, too."

"My wife? You really think I'm going to marry within the year?"

"That's what your mother and I did. Though I suppose we had… unique reasons to do so."

Roy snorted. Too right.

"Girlfriend then, at least. I hope. I'm sure excited to see all their philanthropy projects. I do want to know what they're capable of in a formal setting." He paused thoughtfully for a moment before he brought Roy in for a squeeze. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, son, and I know you'll find it when all this… unfortunate business is over."

Roy glanced at the girls, tiring from the dancing. Yeah, he hoped so too.

"Thanks. Nothing more pathetic than crying at my own birthday party though, so can we please change the subject?"

"All right," said Merrick. "Who's excited for the new year?"

"Oh! The Elite wanted to hold a masquerade ball. On New Year's Eve."

"That sounds like fun," said Ji-Yu. "I do always enjoy a good masquerade ball."

Merrick rolled his eyes – such a foreign gesture to him that Roy double-took. "You enjoy being flattered by foreign men, you mean."

"Who doesn't? I seem to recall you being very popular with the Japanese Geisha twenty years ago."

"You're never going to let that drop, are you?"

Someone cackled. The three of them peered around the buffet table to see Mimi clutching what appeared to be a long, fishing pole.

"Got you!" she sang. Her eyes were huge – drink, definitely. "Now kiss!"

"What?" said Roy. He followed the pole up with his eyes – hooked on the end was a handful of mistletoe.

Oh. _Oh._

Merrick went bright red. "M-Mimi!" he spluttered.

Ji-Yu furrowed her eyebrows. Not in embarrassment, but in frustration. "This again, Mimi?"

"Come oooooon, give us a smooch! Merryu forever, remember?"

Oh god. _Merryu_. Why.

Roy cringed, hard. "I, er, I'm going to go." Watching his parents make googly-eyes at one another, let alone kissing, was vomit-inducing.

He managed to spin around just as they leant in. With Camilla by directly in his line of vision, he crossed the room to give his parents space and grabbed her arm. "You know, I'd really appreciate my surprise right about now."

Camilla's eyes narrowed and darted around him. "Why? What—" She cut herself off, and her lips quivered with resisted amusement. "Oh, right."

"Spare me please."

She chuckled. "I'll round up the others."

The girls assembled on the floor in a semi-circle, all matching with Gail's homemade party hats – white cones scribbled with pink crayons. Notecards trembled in their hands. As Mimi lowered the music to a whisper, and the gathered crowd packed together to watch, Gail trooped forwards with her chest puffed and smile wide.

"Hello!" she bellowed, reading off the cards. "My name is Princess Gail Su-Jin Schreave of Illéa, and today I have written, produced, directed, cinematographed, special-affected, and scored a poem for my brother!"

Hwan threw Roy into a chair at the lip of the crow so everyone could watch his reaction. Cameras snapped. Roy tried not to fumble with his fingers in embarrassment, but he sensed whatever the girls had planned was going to bring red to his cheeks.

Gail turned to the girls. "Can we start?"

"I'll count us in," said Luna. "Three, two, one—"

In unison, they spoke.

"This is a poem for Jun Fitzroy Schreave.

Don't call him a month because that's his pet peeve.

He likes to party, dance and have lots of fun,

But if he drinks too much, then you might want to run.

He rules the Mean Realms, but he's not really mean.

He doesn't think asparagus is gourmet cuisine.

(and he's right!)

One day he will rule the country of Illéa.

We can't find anything that rhymes with that except player,

Which he's not.

He's a hotshot.

He can't really twerk, it needed some work,

But he knows what to say, even on a bad day.

He can't climb a tree, and he's got a scar on his knee,

But he's generous and kind, and won't leave you behind.

And we'll love him forever, especially since,

It's impossible to forget that he is _the prince."_

Roy buried his face in his hands. This— this was cheesy, mushy, something that churned his heart in the best way. The people clapped and cheered as the Elite bowed, and Gail curtsied. Hwan whooped, pointing at Roy and saying, "He's embarrassed! Someone owes me ten dollars!" whilst Merrick and Ji-Yu laughed good-naturedly.

"Your Highness!" Rainerd approached him, holding a recorder to his face. "Anything to say about this birthday surprise?"

His cheeks were practically tomatoes, he could feel them. Trying not to laugh with nerves, he said, "Thank you, everyone. I loved it."

Gail threw her notes away and raced to give him a hug. "Yay!"

He squeezed fiercely, vowing never to forget his little sister's endless kindness and energy. Rising from the chair, he embraced the Elite too, who crooned and laughed over him and ruffled his hair.

"You girls…" he said, barely able to contain his grin. "You're all the best."

"Of course we are!" said Maeve.

"Selfie!" Katrina rammed herself into the group hug with her camera phone. She glared at Roy. "Make an appropriate facial expression for my Instagraph page, please. I know it's difficult for you to look good, but you can at least try."

"You can't insult me. It's my birthday."

"Just did." She grinned, an unholy thing that could repel demons. "Smile!"

Everyone posed. She captured a wave of photos no doubt to surf through later in search of the perfect one. Roy shucked the forced smile and addressed his Elite.

"Thanks, all. I love each and every one of you."

He danced, drank, took photos with the Elite, partied until the moon was high in the sky and spewing rays of white gold onto the carpet. Sitting down at the table, watching his grandparents get tired and retire early and his friends share stories over hot chocolate, he swirled his hand around a bout of confetti, dazed expressin easing his face.

Yeah. Everything would be okay. Eventually.

The chair next to him creaked. Elise. She beamed at him, not unlike the moon outside.

"Want to dance?"

He inclined his head with a lazy, tired smile. "I'm pooped, but thank you."

"It's just slow songs now," she said. "Not much movement involved."

Slow songs, to close the night as gently as a lover's whisper.

Well, if it was only a dance.

"All right."

She offered a hand, and he took it, both arranging themselves on the dance floor. It wasn't much of a dance, like she'd said, since all they were doing was swaying and holding each other's hands. He felt his vision narrow in on this moment, just him and Elise, like a spotlight had shadowed everything else.

"I'm still holding you to that date," she said with a giggle. "At the Los Angeles Public Library."

"I'm not sure a library date is very televisual."

"I guess it was wishful thinking to imagine the Illéan people sitting at home watching us read books." She smiled. "But it would help me research my project."

"What did you have in mind?"

"It's… risky," she mumbled. "I wanted to address the castes."

His throat tightened. It was the choice of one of his own ancestors, too. And it had landed her in trouble.

"Well, I don't know," Elise said, eyes faraway. "I'm not sure yet, but… maybe we can talk about it…?"

"When you have a more concrete topic of discussion, then ask Sashi," he said. He couldn't judge her project based on an idea, not when it was barely in fruition, even if the subject matter tingled his nerves. "I'm not supposed to have much impact on your idea or presentation to prevent bias, but we do have plenty of books on the subject in our own library."

"Right. You're right." She smiled. "Let's enjoy the dance."

They swayed, they swung. Looking closer at Elise, he realised how different she seemed when she was talking about something she cared about. It was like her soul was on fire with passion, visible even in the harsh blue of her irises, burning as eternally as a star.

"Got you!"

Roy jerked from his reverie. Mimi was standing a few paces away.

With her mistletoe stick.

His face exploded. "A-Aunt Mimi!"

Elise ripped her gaze away from him to the pole. She trailed it up. "Oh." Back to Roy. "You… want to?"

"He has no choice!" Mimi chanted. "Now kiss, you two! Don't be shy!"

A honing in fell across his shoulders like a warm blanket. Ignoring Mimi, it was just him and Elise… and a spritz of mistletoe, jingling like bells above them.

"It's okay." His heart leapt into his throat. _Just one kiss,_ he thought, his head succumbing to the gentleness of her gaze.

They closed the gap. Her body, small as it was, filled every pore on his skin with warmth. She stood on her tiptoes, he leant down.

Her breath puffed onto his face, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly.

 _Relax, Roy. Make no mistakes._

Her lips were soft, so supple, like silk and ink and curious flames in a winter fireplace. Gently he kissed her, their noses bumping, skin brushing, and euphoria burst inside him at the sensation.

He pulled away first – she stilled, eyes lidded, then perked back, a blush ripping across her cheeks. He was red, too, probably red all over.

"That was… nice…" she said, a dreamy quality to her voice.

 _Good… good._ He hadn't messed up. Still, he couldn't bring himself to look her in the face.

"Yeah," he mumbled back.

"SO! CUTE!" Mimi all but screamed.

Cameras clicked away. Katrina was hungrily snapping photos, apparently competing against Clarity, who had materialised from the side.

Elise broke away, and all that warmth drained with her. She fanned herself. "Oh, they caught that on camera?"

He turned. Everyone was staring. His parents, whispering between one another.

Even the Elite. Their expressions were impossible to read.

He whirled back and rubbed his neck, talking to Mimi. "Okay, there. We kissed."

She squeed and bounded to Katrina, desperate to see her photos. Not that it mattered. Roy would see it on _The Illéan Times_ tomorrow, likely.

Elise brushed her fingers with his. "Thank you."

"It's not anything to thank me for."

"You could've said no, but… you indulged me. So thank you." She reached up to plant another on his cheek – swift and fleeting, but meaningful nonetheless. "Happy birthday, and happy Christmas."

And as the evening ended, the girls, except for Ambrosia, departed for Christmas, and Roy crumpled into bed for the day, his heart was still fluttering after that kiss.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm exhausted from a hardcore weekend of... hunting shiny Eevee on Pogo... ahem SOOO this'll be a short one, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Got an idea for a masquerade outfit? If you're a submitter, feel free to pin it to the Pinterest group "tsts || selected things", and if you're not but still want to contribute ideas, leave it in a review for me to see!

As usual, thanks for reading, reviewing, following, and favouriting.

~ GWA

NTT: "He's never going to want to look at me again!"


	61. Black Sheep of the Family

The three days of Christmas was a whirlwind of activity, and from Christmas Eve, to the Day After, Roy's schedule had been packed with belated birthday gifts, banquets, speeches, and a few appearances at charity fundraising events. He hardly had time to think, let alone sleep, and business as prince kept his hands occupied and his mind from straying.

By the time the twenty-seventh hit, Roy was exhausted enough to spend a whole day sleeping. With the holiday over, most of the Elite girls would be returning today to see out the rest of the Selection, and he ached to have some company once more. He'd hardly had any free time to spend with Ambrosia, except for the small family gathering during Christmas evening, where she'd happily helped Gail open an enormous pile of presents.

He rolled over in bed and groaned, tired despite the intermittent sleep. Soft footsteps bounded closer. _Just a few more moments,_ he thought in vain. The door opened and in stepped Rudy, eyes sagging, frowning and restless.

"Good morning, Your Highness," he mumbled, throwing open Roy's curtains. Light floated into the room, dull and lifeless as the cloudy sky.

Roy sat up and rubbed his eyes. "You look like you've seen the dead."

Rudy freed a sigh. "That's because Joseph and I went on the date yesterday." He dropped his head. "And it was a total disaster."

"What?" Roy got out of bed and threw on a dressing gown, suddenly more awake. "Why?"

"For one, I forgot my wallet."

"Woooooow." Roy winced. "Amateur mistake, bro."

"That wasn't the worst part. After dinner, we went to the planetarium, which he paid for, and I accidentally spilt Coke down his front when a kid bumped into me."

Roy went to ask, but Rudy shook his head. "After it dried, I suggested we go ice skating to forget about it all. Only I went too fast and accidentally smacked into his back, and he fell over and banged his head on the ice. Spent the rest of the night in a hospital."

"Oh, damn. Is he okay…?"

"He's fine. Mild concussion. No work for him for a while though." He thumped his head against Roy's wall. "Ugh, it was so embarrassing that I all but fled when the nurse told me visiting hours were over."

It was almost comical, Rudy's disastrous date, but Roy wisely decided not to laugh. "You know they're all just small mistakes, right? It's not like you and him don't get along."

"Roy, I put that man in hospital! He's never going to want to look at me again!"

Roy smirked. "Well, he has to, since you both work here."

" _Uuuuugh,"_ Rudy let out a long groan, and that caused Roy to laugh. It was fun being on the other side for once.

There was nothing more Roy could do to alleviate Rudy's worries when Young-Sook pawed at his door, to escort him to his next appointment with Dr Jugovach, and he left the valet stewing with in his embarrassment and hoping he'd get over it eventually.

Jugovach, in contrast, seemed more rejuvenated and refreshed than Roy had ever seen him. As Young-Sook closed the door, he eased into his thick armchair, clipboard at hand, the corner of his lip tilted up just slightly. Unusually, his counselling office was becoming increasingly cluttered, with sheets piling up on his desk, and stationary peppered on the desk and sofas.

"How was your Christmas, Roy?" Nonetheless, Jugovach maintained perfect calm.

Roy gave him a quick rundown. "All in all, stressful," he admitted at the end.

"Christmas is a time to relax, be with family. It's a shame you found the occasion stressful."

 _Family,_ Roy snorted inwardly. His family was so twisted and messed up, secrets might as well have been currency. Diantha seemed to linger at the edge of Jugovach's chair, her bony hand splayed across his shoulder like an omen of death.

"Life as a prince, I guess," he said, shrugging away the image. "What did you do?"

"Mostly spent the holiday with friends. They were very curious about you, of course, but many of their questions I couldn't answer." He propped his clipboard. "Shall we begin the session? How have your nightmares been lately?"

He had a particularly bad spell during Christmas Eve night. Something about his gathered family and intimate setting had brought it about, he supposed. Ringing from the gunshot echoed like distant horns, never once pausing to reload. Poison, oozing down the leaves on the tree. A laugh, as harsh and unbearable as the sound of tearing paper.

Closing his eyes and focusing on Gail's laughter had helped quell the feelings, but they loitered, as they always did. Like a hand pressed to the small of his back.

In the end, Roy said, "Not much change."

"Is it still Newton's Wife? Diantha Schreave?"

"Both."

Jugovach scribbled. "I'm still intrigued about your grandmother's appearance." He tapped the pen to his cheek in a rhythm. "What brought that about, I wonder…? Has it always been her that comes to you in the night?"

"Not always," Roy admitted, "but ever since I saw her in the Shell Wing—"

He cut himself off, face going white with horror. Oh _god._ It'd just come out.

"Ever since you saw her in the Shell Wing?" Jugovach prompted, head tilted. "She has passed, Roy."

"Yes. I know. She's dead. I mean, I didn't see _her,_ I saw… her painting, in the Shell Wing… and a prisoner…" He scrambled to make a believable lie. Acketeer – he could use Acketeer. "There was a, er, prisoner that security captured. That's the _her_ I mean."

It was common knowledge to keep prisoners in the Shell Wing. Not so much to keep royalty. Jugovach couldn't question it; he wasn't allowed to go there.

"Really?" Jugovach made a funny face, but scribbled again. "Why would this prisoner remind you of your grandmother?"

"She was a rebel being kept in the Shell Wing," he said quickly. "She kept talking about my grandmother's reign and the chasm between high and low castes at the time." His lungs scrunched up, parched of breath though the air was fine. "My mother told me about her past, with the rebels… they started with her."

Jugovach's expression loosened to surprise. "Yes. They did gain clout during Queen Diantha's reign."

"Why?" Roy blurted. Suddenly, this was something he wanted to know. "What did she do? It was my great-grandmother, Janice, that established a stricter reign, but why did the Southern Rebels only gain traction when her daughter took over?"

And why were they choosing now to strike? Were Merrick and he not better rulers, better choices?

Jugovach wrinkled his nose, as if unsure whether to broach the subject. Eventually, he placed his pen and clipboard down on the side table.

"That's not quite true," he said quietly. "The old queen had an… unusual relationship with the Southern Rebels. It wasn't unlike now: riots, rebellion, sabotage." He hurried, skipping over the real problem at Roy's doorstep. "Your grandmother never addressed the rebels directly, and yet soon, they were all but wiped away."

"What? But how?"

"No one knows. Historians speculate she brokered deals with the highest-ranking leaders to prevent a civil war, in exchange for an open dialogue about change. But there is no evidence to support this."

That couldn't be right. Skye had said no one listened to them, that his family trampled on their ideals so much that they were forced to turn to riot and rebellion and sabotage as a last resort. If Diantha made peace with them, the rebels wouldn't still be functioning today.

Something didn't add up, and dread fell like thick venom down his gullet.

Jugovach picked up his clipboard again, noting down the conversation. "Just to clarify, you believe your traumatic nightmares stem from seeing… a painting of your grandmother, and a rebel prisoner within the Shell Wing?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting. This painting – could it possibly be removed?"

"It could. It, er, hasn't yet, though."

A nod. "When was this rebel brought in?"

"A couple of weeks ago, I think."

More scribbling, more of that inscrutable face.

"Is she still here? Do you still visit?"

Acketeer had been moved to one of the bigger cells down the hall, meant for prolonged stay. If they could squeeze something out of her, or even use her as blackmail, it was worth a try.

"No. I don't."

He nodded. "That's good. I would suggest not to further seek her or this painting out, since both cause you so much distress." He clicked his pen. "Any update on what your grandmother does during your nightmares?"

The last time he had refused to tell him. Now he didn't care so much. "She laughs," said Roy, hugging his legs to his chest. "She laughs. Maniacally."

His eyes flashed with understanding. He knew the fabricated story of her demise, just like everyone else in the country did.

"I see. All right. I believe that will do for now. For the next ten minutes, I'd like to run through some breathing techniques."

It past in a blur. In, and out. Through the nose, through the mouth. It was like he was taking a meditation class, to calm his heart and strengthen his mind, but it was hard to clear his head when all he could think about was his grandmother and the Southern Rebels.

There was a hole in history. Something pertinent to the origins of the Southern Rebels. And if he could just figure out how to placate them before they invaded, like she had, he might just be able to protect his country and save his family.

But there was only one person who could share the real story.

Though he had promised, Roy had to make another trip to the Shell Wing.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Roy didn't bother with hiding, with formalities. He strode through the first set of doors of the Shell Wing and kept going at the fork, until he reached the two guards waiting outside of Diantha's cell. They straightened at his appearance.

"Let me through," he demanded.

To his surprise, they stepped aside. "We have been asked to alert Her Majesty—"

"Fine. Do as you will."

The corridor was cold and unforgiving, dust settling onto his skin like termites to wood. Consuming him as he marched closer and closer to the cell. The door clattered open into that same, eerie silence.

Diantha looked no different from two weeks ago, that crooked frame weeping in her silk and satin drapery. White hair pulled sheer into a bun, and she prodded at her long fingers, bent and stick-like with age.

His heart blundered into an erratic rhythm. The face of his nightmares, given physical form. It closed in, that sensation to curl into a ball, or run, and Roy trampled on it to keep it at bay. This wasn't the time.

He had to know.

Her smile pulled up her skin, showing each of her pearly teeth, well-kept despite her age. Eyes so blue they could be the sky before a storm.

"Come to tell me about your Selection, grandson of mine? Your father keeps trying to. He seems worried that you're too indecisive. If you want my advice, you should choose the Nichols girl, the only decent option in a pack of vermin." She grinned, an unholy, putrid thing. "Or perhaps you have come for other reasons?"

As brazen as the insult was, Roy only clenched his jaw. _Don't let her rattle you._

Diantha shuffled to him, using a cane to prop her. She came right to the partition, her breath condensing on the glass. Despite his screaming instincts, desperate to escape, he took a shaky step forwards.

"I know what my parents did to you."

"You know your parents _poisoned_ me." She scoffed. "I can imagine your mother wept as she fed you her sob story. Such a tragic tale, her becoming queen and living her best life, whilst I was relegated to this prison cell to die."

"You nearly executed her—" He caught himself. "It doesn't matter. It's done. That's not why I'm here."

"It is," said Diantha. "One things leads to another, Jun. I am here because of my circumstances, and so are you."

Shuddering at the use of his first name, Roy grappled for some, any courage. "I want to talk about the Southern Rebels."

She groomed her chin and considered him for a moment with a tilted head and thin mouth.

"They're causing you quite the trouble, aren't they?" She laughed. "Filthy commoners always believing in some impossible form of equality. It wouldn't do well to inherit the throne of a country on brink of war… if you'll even have the chance to inherit before then, that is."

It skittered down his spine.

"I'm not here to insult them," he said, tone wavering.

"No," she agreed quietly. "You want to know what I did to curb their threat."

Was he that easy to read? Warily, he nodded.

"Give me a good enough reason, grandson, and I will share how I defeated them."

"You didn't defeat them," he snapped. "They weren't a disease, they didn't die out completely. Whatever you did only hindered their actions. Now they're back, and I'm cleaning up after you."

"Are you? Brave words." She smirked. "If that is so, why haven't they disbanded during your father's reign?"

His chest turned to stone.

Diantha left the thought in the air as she fluttered out a hand. "Pull up a chair, grandson. I will tell you my story."

Roy unfolded the fold-out chair on the side, presumably for Merrick when he visited, the steel cold against his back. It was sobering, grounding. Diantha did not sit, for she had nothing to sit on so close to the glass, so her figure towered over him, exuberant in power and deference. He might have shrank back if the partition wasn't there.

"The Southern Rebels were once a small band of misfits, Eights and Sevens, demanding fair rights and equal opportunities. As if they were equal to Ones and Twos. They formed under a united front during my mother's reign, Queen Janice Schreave, after she reinstated the castes and the absolute monarchy. I enforced stricter rules when I ascended to the throne, which only caused more unrest in the southern populations."

Roy glued his mouth shut, deciding not to comment on her vile beliefs.

"It became apparent to me that this threat was something I had to take seriously, if I were to continue a peaceful reign. These Southern Rebels had taken on a moniker from times past; our ancestors dealt with them, too."

"They were no longer a threat to my ancestors." He recalled his history. "It was… it was during the rule of King Maxon and Queen America that they abolished the castes, and during the reign of Queen Eadlyn and then King Kaden that they further reworked the structure of the sovereign."

"Correct. Our pathetic, weak-willed grandparents bowed to the wills of commoners to remove our power and class system. Luckily, with my mother, justice was restored—"

"That's when the rebels returned," Roy snapped. "Don't you think that says something? They attack after we ruined the peace—"

" _Ruined?_ Dear boy, it was that very move that revived our country. Milandra Schreave was pulled in to drink and drugs, forcing her younger and even more incompetent brother, Triton Schreave, to take over, and he was so weak he could barely juggle even basic demands. His ineptitude incited famine. Poverty. Our allies becoming our enemies, our government scorned. Betrayal, deaths, our country on brink of financial collapse. It was one of the worst periods of Illéa's history. Janice Schreave saved us from devastation."

Diantha grinned like she could sense how uncomfortable he was.

"What you fail to see is that the Southern Rebels are a vocal minority. Of course they were displeased with us taking back control. Without it, the country suffocated. Without a guiding hand, Illéa was lost. When I took the crown, they had gathered a force large enough to cause destruction. So I organised a meeting."

Like Jugovach had said. "What happened?"

"I offered them a deal. We could talk, in exchange for peace. And when all those high-ranking leaders of the Southern Rebels appeared at our meeting hall," she paused, "I had them all assassinated."

His jaw dropped open.

"You— you _killed_ them all?"

"The same for countries can be said for rebellions. Without leaders, the rebellion suffered. Few stepped in to take the mantle, and I would have them silenced permanently soon after. Eventually no one wanted to lead, to protect their own lives." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that, one threat eliminated."

Anger rushed through his shock, clasping at his head like a leech. "You killed all those people when you promised a fair discussion!"

"That is the only way to ascertain peace, Jun. Sacrifices had to be made to maintain our way of life."

He didn't know what to say. His mouth was dry, parched like firewood, burning and hot and angry. Those promises, broken before they'd even been given. Those lives, lost in what could've been a moment of peace. Now the rebels were back, outraged, and hungry for revenge.

It was in his blood, so much death. Diantha wasn't an omen of death – she was the Grim Reaper.

"Y-You're wrong," he said, hands shaking with so much fury. "You're wrong, grandmother. Triton may not have been able to handle the country, but that doesn't mean the correct solution was to take back that power and keep it to ourselves. The Southern Rebels may have been a threat, but you didn't have to slaughter all those people. There were so many better solutions – make peace with our enemies, restructure the government, just listening—"

"My mother's solution worked. My solution worked. Your parents, well, their solution to ignore them worked. For a time." She breathed in deeply, enjoying his fury. "I don't regret taking those lives, and I never will. For my country, I would do it all again."

"You're _sick!"_ he yelled. "You're sick, even without the damn poison!"

But Diantha merely smiled. "Yet here you are, coming to me for answers. I am your blood, Roy, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

The doors opened. The guards.

"Your Highness, you are being summoned by Her Majesty, immediately."

Roy could still hear Diantha's laughing, even with the Shell Wing behind him.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Ji-Yu was standing, leering through her office window at the gardens below, before she turned to him. Eyes ablaze, body wound as tightly a screw, it was enough indication that she was furious at what he'd done. Not surprising. She didn't say anything at first as Roy shut the door and stood opposite, unnerved and restless.

Then her voice came out as straggled and desperate syllables.

"You promised me, Jun."

He could've lied, but what was the point?

"I had to go back," he said with a proud voice. "I had to know how she quelled the Southern Rebel threat during her reign, thinking it might be useful to know for our current situation."

Ji-Yu turned fully to face him, face red. "And you thought her advice would be trustworthy? Better than mine, or your father's?"

"She stopped the rebels, and all I wanted to know was how. I got my answers."

He told her about Diantha's machinations. How she took advantage of the rebels' compassion to murder their high-ranking officials. Ji-Yu stiffened as the story went on.

"And what are you going to do with this information, Roy?" she said after he'd finished. "Are you planning to assassinate Wolanski as well?"

"Of course not," he barked, though a tiny part of him was intrigued at the idea. "I had no idea she'd do something like this. I thought— I'd hoped she'd solved it rationally."

Ji-Yu scoffed. "Therein lies your fault. I'm not at all surprised she used such subterfuge to get her way." She clasped her hands together, but this time her voice was laced with hurt. "But that doesn't excuse you going behind my back to talk to her. After you _promised_ me, Jun."

It caught him by surprise, and he forced down the guilt building through him like a geyser.

"Promises like that don't get answers," he said quietly. "I don't like her or trust her, but I'm trying to find a way to deal with the Southern Rebels who are still coming for us."

"We are dealing with it."

"Are you?" he challenged. No matter how hard he tried, Diantha's cursed words rang in his head like dirge bells: _Your parents, well, their solution to ignore them worked. For a time._ "Because the way I see it, you and Dad have done nothing to stop them."

Her face flushed with indignation. "I beg your—"

"They do, we react. They start riots, we quash them. They infiltrate the palace, we try to find the spy. It's all passive, Mother! We never do anything when they don't!"

"We have our own spies and officers—"

"Who do what? It's not sustainable. There's no clear plan moving forwards. What are we going to do when we find the spy, Mother? Are we just going to let her continue on until I eliminate her?"

"Jun—"

"And if the rebels come for us? What then? They aren't going to tire. They aren't going to stop. We have to step up and take charge or they'll attack us and we won't be prepared—!"

" _It isn't so simple!"_ she yelled, slamming her hands against the desk. "You think we don't know that all our plays have been reactionary? We're trying to take a peaceful approach! To open a dialogue and maintain civility! But it's too late to reverse the damage done by your grandmothers, too late to take back those deaths. We're left grasping at threads to prevent a _coup,_ and you going behind our back to speak with your despicable grandmother isn't helping anyone!"

He felt the blow like it was physical, cheeks bleeding red. It stunned him, when he was so sure his parents, so sure that his mother was riding out the storm instead of steering free from it.

Ji-Yu just sighed and sat down, and Roy followed.

"There are so many people at risk here – on palace grounds and elsewhere. Lives have been lost in these riots. Innocent lives. They are the ones we're trying to protect."

"I want to do that too." Roy clenched his fists. "But if we sit back and let the rebels trample all over us—"

She made an offended noise. "I can assure you, just because we are only fighting when necessary, does not mean we are letting them _trample_ on us."

"Then we need a plan," he insisted. "Something. We need to do something when we figure out who the spy is."

She looked away. "The thing is, Roy, many of the Southern Rebels believe they're fighting for a just cause. That they want equality and fair rights. This isn't a bad thing. But." She clasped her hands together, knuckles white. "Those many have been misled to believe that rioting and open rebellion are the only ways that grab our attention. Some have no idea that Wolanski's ultimate plan is to eliminate us."

Skye knew all along. So did Acketeer. The second spy likely did, too. They were not so justified in their worthy cause. Life for a life.

"That's why it's difficult to move forwards," Ji-Yu continued. "The seeds your ancestors planted have grown so wild that they are difficult to uproot."

"Surely not everyone thinks rioting is the only way to be heard?"

"No, but it doesn't help that there's some truth to their lie. We didn't listen to their concerns until rioting occurred, when we were forced to." Her face hardened, but her voice was low. "I've revisited many current policies and found things leftover from previous rulers that we never re-addressed. Regulations making it more difficult to move up castes for Sevens or Sixes. Gatekeeping food bank policies. Job centre application requirements. Some that are so obviously discriminatory to lower castes, but I hadn't flagged. Never flagged, until now."

She sat back, resting her hands on her belly.

"Time has given me perspective, but it's not good enough that only now we are starting to reconsider our laws. That's why the rebels have so much traction." She balled her hands, and she looked at Roy with a resolute expression. "And that's why I want you to be better than me and your father, Roy. Be better than that."

His shoulders rose. "Come on, Mother, cut yourself some slack—"

"I'm not perfect," she said, with a little smile. "Neither is your father, or any of the court, the magistrates, the councils of each provinces. Neither are you. But this is a mistake we cannot easily rectify, and when you eventually become king and take the throne, I want you to be better than we ever were. And considering you've already taken steps to find the answers you need—" She closed her eyes. "I know you will be."

They mulled in quiet for a moment, but Roy scrunched up his face, staring at his mother. It was so hard not to put her and Merrick on a pedestal. He looked up to them in more ways than one – as parents, as leaders, as rulers of a country and as the impartial voices to all dispute. Hearing from Ji-Yu how many mistakes they made… hearing from Merrick how irrational and emotional they could be…

It reminded him that not even those he saw as perfect were not. That he himself would never reach perfection, in whatever he did. It was humbling and thought-provoking, and he sank deeper into his chair.

Ji-Yu sighed and opened her eyes, spinning her chair until she was facing the window, the setting sun. "Diantha is not unlike the people she killed, you know. Deceptive and ruthless. I'm surprised she didn't decide to work with them instead of slaughtering them where they stood."

"The guards never stopped me when I went to the Shell Wing. They _let_ me through." He almost didn't want to say it. "You knew I'd go back."

Her jaw hardened, and that was answer enough.

"I wondered if you ever needed to hear her… side of the story."

He shook his head. "I only went to her to see if we could find a way out of our current predicament. I know how horrible she is. How horrible she was to you." It came out as a mousey whisper. "I never needed to hear her side of the story. I always believed you, Mother. Without a doubt."

Darkness shone from her eyes like polished black stone, but lidded as they were and glistening with tears, the corner of her mouth still tilted up.

"Thank you." She cleared her throat, brushed her eyes dry. "Start thinking of ideas, of what we can do when we identify the spy. We'll use her to our advantage. We'll twist her in our favour."

It wasn't long now. Six girls left.

The spy would be unveiled soon… and time was running out.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

That evening and the next morning, the Elite girls returned in staggers. Roy, Gail and Ambrosia waited for each of them in foyer, greeting them with wild, inappropriate cheers and hugs. All of them seemed happy to be back, to the pomp and drama, the outlandish feasts and extravagant gowns. And to him, he hoped.

Elise chattered excitedly about the upcoming masquerade ball, apparently on a mad text tirade with her tailor over Christmas to finalise her dress details. Camilla's hugs were a relieving sigh in physical form. Maeve took Gail on a piggyback ride, and Luna nearly choked several times from the terrible Christmas puns.

When Lilly last arrived during midmorning, however, there was an inkling of sadness crossing her face. Everyone saw it before she could correct it, replacing the frown with a weak smile, her sad air with a jovial one. It was probably hard to leave her parents again for the final few weeks of the Selection.

It didn't stop Gail from bounding up to the girl and hugging her tightly around the waist. Lilly petted her back, her fake smile temporarily glazed for a real one.

Gail stepped back. To Roy's surprise, she signed. " _How are you?"_ He recognised it from when Lilly taught him.

Lilly giggled and gave her a thumbs up.

Only now had Roy realised Eulalia wasn't here. "No Eulalia?" he said anyway, though Lilly wouldn't understand. They all exchanged hugs nonetheless before Roy typed it on his phone. Lilly made a face at the message, and took her time to write another one out.

 _She's with her family for another day. She'll be back tomorrow._

Roy frowned. He didn't know about this. With no translator, it was going to be difficult for Lilly to communicate smoothly for the day.

"Ah, well. Eulalia's gonna' miss out on our masquerade plannin'!" chirruped Maeve, pumping her fist. "We're all gonna' try on several dresses today!"

" _Squeeeeeeeeee!"_ Elise yelled. " _I'm so excited!"_

"But before that!" Maeve announced. "Breakfast, anyone?"

"I'm so hungry," said Luna, with an embarrassed laugh. She typed a message for Lilly, but Lilly shook her head.

 _I've already eaten. I will join you for wardrobe in the afternoon._

The girls went on ahead, Gail going with them on the promise that she could have a big stack of blueberry pancakes, but Roy wavered. Did Lilly want company right now, or did she want to be left alone? He figured it was better to ask and tapped out a quick message on his phone.

 _You okay? You seem quite down._

 _I'm okay. It's just hard leaving my family._ She bit her lip and added, _I had another fight with Eulalia._

His eyes widened. _That's not good. Want to talk about it?_

She typed two letters. _No._

 _That's okay._ What else he could do? _Want to just take a walk around the palace instead?_

She slid her arm through his. In blue lace and pink tulle, not unlike the rest of her wardrobe, it ironically already seemed like she was ready for the masquerade ball ready. Under his eyes, she blushed, and brushed back a lock of hair behind her ears. Big pink pearl earrings hung from her ears.

 _I like your dress. And nice earrings,_ he wrote casually.

Her face burnt a little more, but she removed the lock of hair from her ears. It draped over the ears. _Thank you._

They idled around the hallways, both their phones pocketed. Morning light beamed across the painted walls, across Lilly's face. He occasionally snuck glances her way, saddened to see there was still that distance as bright as dusk. What did she argue about with Eulalia this time? Was the translator still against Lilly's dreams?

A little irritation rose up his chest. He didn't want to get involved, but to tell Lilly those things was ridiculous. Eulalia should worry about her life, not Lilly's.

Maybe it was coming from the heart, however blunt. They were new friends, and if Lilly really couldn't stand Eulalia, she'd just ask for her to be replaced.

He stopped in the hallway and pulled out his phone again. _Are you sure you don't want to talk about Eulalia?_

She hesitated typing a reply. _Thank you for your concern, Roy. She cares about me, but sometimes she cares so much its suffocating._

 _I get you. If you want me to talk to her, I can._

She shook her head rapidly, her hair falling down her shoulders again. _No. That's okay. Thank you, though._

They left it at that, and together they strode through the hallways in pure, contented silence again. It was nice not to worry with Lilly, but another question nibbled away at his serenity: would their communication always be as stilted as this? He craved the ease of conversation, perhaps selfishly, and unless Lilly decided to have the hearing implant and learn to speak, or he learnt sign language, there would always be the broken bridge between them.

Would he ever be able to have a fluent conversation with her?

Noises pricked his senses – yelling? He raised an eyebrow, and warily glancing at Lilly, whose expression hadn't changed, he led them down towards the voices.

It became clearer who was talking when they reached the doors to a receiving chamber. They were marginally ajar, letting the sounds blast out like speakers. He paused by the threshold.

"— _you'd do something like this!"_ Ji-Yu. She was screaming. Raging. It sent chills down his spine.

"I-I promise, I never wanted it to come to this!"

Mimi. It was blubbered in a sob, like her own tears were choking her.

Lilly cocked her head, and after a moment, typed, _Why are we here?_

He typed as Ji-Yu spoke. "Never come to _this?_ How could you even let it come this far? Have you really sunk so low? Have you no shame or honour?"

He froze mid-word. _What the hell?_ he thought, finishing the text. _My mother and aunt are inside._

Lilly smiled and nodded, gesturing for him to go inside.

But he didn't. His heart leapt into his throat as he listened.

Mimi wept. "I-I'm _sorry_. I promise, I-I'm so, so, so, _so_ sorry! I know you can never forgive me—"

Ji-Yu's scoffed, harsh and guttural. "You're goddamn right I'll never forgive you! Do you know what you've done? What this means?"

"I-I was desperate! I knew you were never going to give me any more when I spent it all—"

"You _squandered_ it! You took advantage of my generosity!"

Lilly typed another message, brow furrowed. _Don't you want to go inside?_

He made a blank face, not sure what to say back to that. This wasn't the type of conversation he wanted to interrupt, but the way Ji-Yu was yelling, the way Mimi was sobbing…

"I know! I know! I'm a _horrible_ sister, a _horrible_ person—"

"That's your problem, Mi-Gyeong! Always saying things like that to get me to feel pity for you. _You_ are not the victim here. _I_ am! My family is!" She made a disgusted noise. "The _whole country_ is! And now you've put me in the worst position about how to address it!"

Lilly made a face at Roy, like _this is silly_. _It's just your aunt and mother._

And then she pushed the door open.

" _No!"_ he shrieked, too late.

The scene came into view. Ji-Yu was standing, arms crossed, face deadly. He'd seen that expression multiple times when he was about to get a massive verbal pummelling. But this was an extreme version. Humanity was barely visible in her glare, and it was one that said Aunt Mimi had done something terrible. Unforgiveable.

Unforgiveable may have been right, if he heard correctly.

Mimi was strewn on the ground. Tears streaked down her face, mascara mottled with eyeshadow, eyeliner and blusher, all into a disgusting water painting on her blotchy cheeks. She was grasping at the end of the carpet like she was clinging for dear life.

Both whipped to face the pair.

Lilly went white with mortification. Roy somehow went whiter.

"I— er, I'm sorry—"

Ji-Yu's eyes went wide. "How much did you hear?"

"Something about spending…?"

Lilly looked so confused, looking between his aunt, mother and him. Probably trying to read their lips, but everyone was talking so rapidly she couldn't have got a good read on the situation.

Ji-Yu bore her teeth at Mimi. "Now I have to explain your disgusting crime to my son!"

"Roy," Mimi blubbered. "I-I'm _so_ sorry. I'm so, so, _so_ sorry—"

Ji-Yu waved at Lilly. "You. Wait outside."

Lilly didn't need to hear to know what she wanted. She scampered out the room, out of sight.

Roy gulped. "What… what has Mimi done?"

Ji-Yu's face burned with anger, fury… and a hint of shame. "Your aunt used my access codes to break into the treasury last night to steal funds."

Roy's jaw dropped open.

"Then she accessed the vaults below and stole your sister's official tiara and countless family heirlooms… and sold them all on the black market." Her voice fell dangerously low. "Your aunt just committed theft, embezzlement… and treason."

* * *

 **A/N:** welp... have fun dealing with all that roy... Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

So, I have good news that is also bad... I got a full-time job! At a bookstore (all those glorious books... nom)! Yay! We're so close to the end of tsts that I only have five-ish chapters left to write, ten-ish left to post, but naturally this means that I have less time to write, revise and edit. For now, I'm going to push back the release dates to once every two weeks (which I've been doing these last fews months anyway... cough) to synch with my timetable, and that hopefully still gives me enough wiggle room to keep updates going for you all. Thank you for understanding!

And thank you for reading, reviewing, favouriting, and following along too! I guess now is a good time to tell you...

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 63.

Get hyped. ;)

~ GWA

NTT: "She's going to get caned? Stripped of her caste and banished?"


	62. In Deep Water

Mimi had committed… treason?

Breath squeezed from Roy even though he couldn't shut his mouth. This was a punch to the stomach, then the face, and then the groin for good measure. No wonder Ji-Yu was so extremely angry, so unyielding in that cold, ferocious steel that made her infamous as a queen.

Mimi shook her head. Strands of blonde hair clung to her wet cheeks.

"Roy, I'm so sorry," she blubbered again. "I never meant to hurt you, or anything, but I was so desperate!" She fell into a begging position. "You're right, Ji. I spent all my money and all my debts are rising up and I can't keep up with them! I-I didn't feel like I had any other choice!"

"Any other choice—?" Ji-Yu practically spat down on her. "Are you so goddamn incapable of budgeting and watching your spending that you decided stealing from the royal treasury was a good idea?" Her face fell. "And Gail. What are you going to tell your niece? She looked up to you!"

"I-I know. I know!" Mimi pressed her nose into the carpet. "Please, Ji. I love you so much. You're my sister, my rock. I couldn't bare it if I made you mad—"

"Don't you turn this around on me! I'm ballistic, and you deserve it!"

Ji-Yu had _warned_ him back when his Korean family first arrived that Mimi always wanted something, always needed a favour. Had she come all the way to exploit them for money? He couldn't assimilate the information with his vision of his quirky, eccentric aunt who always bought the best gifts and livened even the dullest of parties.

Ji-Yu didn't seem surprised. This wasn't unreasonable of Mimi, even if committing embezzlement against the monarchy was unreasonable in itself.

"Is that all we mean to you?" he asked in a small voice, addressing her. "We're just here to fund your unhealthy spending habits?"

Mimi shot up, shaking her head so fiercely her hair tie fell out. "No! That's not true! You're my family – my wonderful, loveable family! I love you all to pieces. I-I just… I made an error in judgement, coming here—"

Ji-Yu scoffed. "An error, she calls it! That's insulting!"

"I-I know my spending has been a huge problem, but I just thought, maybe if I paid off all my debts… I could start anew!"

"And using taxpayer's money was the best way to do that?" She clenched her fists. "Committing treason?"

Roy blinked back the film over his eyes. He couldn't stop staring, thinking, worrying. Committing treason. That meant…

"She's going to get caned?" he asked. "Stripped of her caste and banished?"

Mimi's face contorted. "No! _Please!"_

Ji-Yu turned to face him. "That's something we have to consider, yes."

"Please! I _beg_ you! I don't want to get caned!" Mimi pressed her hands together and reassumed her beseeching position. "Please! Please! I can make it up to you, I swear!"

For a moment, Roy didn't know what the outcome would be. Aunt Mimi on the whipping block… he'd never have thought…

But Ji-Yu sighed.

"You will return each and every dollar you spent. I'm going to track Gail's tiara and the heirlooms and have them returned immediately. I will pay off your debts. But in exchange, Mimi, you will budget and watch your spending. This is your last chance." The finality in her tone made Roy shiver. "Is that clear?"

"So… so no caning?"

"No."

Mimi let out another sob and crawled to Ji-Yu's feet, bowing. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you,_ Ji—"

Ji-Yu snatched herself away. "Don't touch me. This is not forgiveness. And if you ever do anything like this again—" She breathed noisily from her nostrils. "I will not be so merciful. Now get out."

"Get out—?"

"Pack your things and go back to Midston. Reflect on what you've done. I don't want to see you until you realise what a fool you have been, and what an awful position you've put me in."

She gestured at Roy to follow her, and Roy couldn't summon the courage, or the audacity, to peek at his aunt again as she continued to cry quietly to herself. In the hallway, Lilly was waiting, wringing her hands together and looking between the angry queen and her bewildered son.

Ji-Yu made another contemptuous wave. "Lady Carter, you're dismissed."

Lilly understood the gesture again. She curtsied low and scampered away, and Ji-Yu led Roy in the opposite direction. He gulped, clipping on her arm to stop her walking so fast.

"Are you, er, okay?"

"I'm absolutely furious."

"No kidding."

She seized her arm back. "Follow me."

When Ji-Yu barged through the noisy doors to the gym, Roy had to make sure she hadn't mistaken her destination in blind rage. An open, white-tiled space, the gym was one of the messiest places in the palace, where no one bothered to replace equipment back on the racks, or gloves and shin pads in the sacks by the side. Thick blue mats plastered the wooden floor haphazardly. Part of the left wall was made of glass, to overlook the palace's only swimming pool.

The attendant at the door left them at Ji-Yu's glower, and Roy wrinkled his nose. He was accustomed to the chalky odour, the stale air, as Ji-Yu taught him how to defend himself since he was old enough to throw a fist. Earnt every belt colour in this room since.

But it was not a place to discuss matters of state.

"Why are we here?"

"To blow off steam," she said sharply. "Get some gloves. We're sparring."

His face went white. "I'm in a suit. And you're pregnant—"

"I won't be doing anything rigorous," she said, then fluttered a hand. "There's some spare clothes in that changing room."

Indeed, a pair of thin shorts and a sheer white T-shirt awaited him. Loose, better fitting a small guard, but he wore it nonetheless.

Ji-Yu had stripped herself of her dress and also changed into a tracksuit, gloves, and protective headgear. If she wasn't pregnant, Roy would fear a major beat-down right now.

"Guard up," she demanded.

He put on gloves and a helmet and raised his fists, feet apart, stance side on.

"We're not going to punish Aunt Mimi?"

Her expression twitched – she went for a right hook. On instinct, Roy shot up his defence and tried to grab her arm. She spun away before he could.

"No."

"Why? She committed treason, just like Barney, and he was caned."

"Ramsbottom found that out. He told everyone. It was unavoidable to mete suitable punishment." Her eyes narrowed. "But only you and I, your father, and high members of the treasury know."

"And they won't snitch?"

Left jab. Roy stepped forwards, blocking, swinging his mother around. He faux-elbowed her gut and made the motion to throw her over the shoulder.

"No, they won't," she said. "Sloppy work. Again."

This time he fuelled more oomph into his swings. "You don't think it's hypocritical that Barney is publically punished and Mimi isn't?"

She groaned, "Of course it is, but Barney isn't the same as Mimi. She's my sister. I grew up with her." They exchanged blows, becoming more and more ferocious with each one. Building up a sweat. "That's why this hurts so much."

"The sparring?" he teased.

"This is nothing to joke about!" she shot back, and he shrivelled at her tone. "My own sister— she was always an airhead, always frivolous and melodramatic but this—" She threw a desperate attempt at a punch, driven by rage over control. Roy used her momentum easily, swinging her around and spinning her back to emulate a throw.

Ji-Yu grunted, but didn't come at him again. "This… This isn't just a step over the line. This is dancing on the other side like a hooligan with despicable glee."

Roy dropped his arms, breathing shallow.

"Why didn't she just borrow money on loan like everyone else?"

"She has, and she has debts to pay for those, too."

"But… being motivated to do this… Why?"

"I don't know. Idiocy. Naïveté. Probably both. I have half a mind to banish her from the palace grounds so I never have to see her _wretched_ —" She made a gruff noise and went for a punch. Unprepared, Roy took the hit to his cheek and staggered back. "Sorry."

It didn't sound very apologetic, but Roy just rolled his jaw. "It's fine." They exchanged a few more blows. "You know covering this up, hiding that Mimi attempted to steal taxpayer funds is illegal too, right? That's… that's corruption."

Ji-Yu swallowed hard. She knew. This was bad.

"I'm pushed into a corner, Roy," she said quietly. "That she has to make me choose is what hurts the most."

Sweat dribbled down his back. Ji-Yu shucked her tracksuit top to reveal a tank top that stretched over her belly. The bump was more prominent now. What would Merrick say if he saw her sparring like this? How had he taken the news of Mimi's crimes?

Roy discarded his top, too. Fetid air breathed up his sweaty chest.

"If anyone finds this out…" he trailed off as she swung. Dodging, he clapped up for an uppercut, but Ji-Yu's guard was solid and unbreakable. "The rebels already have one reason to hate us. Adding more fuel to their fire…"

"I know," she puffed. "But I can't… I won't… I love my family too much to ruin them. _Oji_ and _Oni_ would never forgive me if I isolated her or if I had her physically and publically punished." An awkward motion with the gloves, she pulled down her face like her skin could free itself from her exhausted body and mind. "What is Gail going to say?"

"Gail won't mind," he said. "She likes sharing."

Ji-Yu huffed a reluctant laugh. "She does. I suppose she's a bigger person than I."

"I think you're reacting appropriately to this, Mother." He chewed his lip. "I'm just not sure you're choosing the right path."

"So you would have me torture her? Shame her?"

"She needs to be punished one way or another. Family isn't exempt from the rules, and she has no diplomatic immunity. If Barney— well, Alex, can face punishment for crimes they've committed against us, so can Mimi."

"Alex readily accepted his fate. Mimi… you don't understand." She looked away. "This would tear us apart."

He'd probably never see her again. She'd become resentful. Bitter. Not unlike someone locked in the Shell Wing right now. Condemning Mimi to that life didn't suit her, not when her intentions were good.

This was complicated, as tangled as a flimsy web of yarn. It wasn't his decision to make, but it did impact his future. If the treasury leaked this information now, or during his reign? An onslaught of corruption and dictatorship accusations flung his way. It wasn't the first time his family had been caught committing something heinous that came to bite them in the ass later.

He gritted his teeth together. Mimi must have thought her position unnegotiable to do this. No way out.

The door clattered open.

Camilla shouldered inside, mumbling to herself, before she looked up. Eyes met. Her cheeks lit up like fireworks.

"Oh, Your Majesty, Your Highness— I-I didn't know you were in here—"

"It's all right, Lady Daugherty," Ji-Yu cut across. "We were just finished here." She looked pointedly at Roy and cleared her throat.

Roy blinked. Ji-Yu's lips rolled and she looked at his chest.

His bare chest.

Sweaty, bruised, and with decidedly no abs.

Red blazed up his cheeks. _Oh, shit._ He scrambled to throw off the equipment and replace the T-shirt, but the sheer fabric clung to him, soaked through, blurting his secrets worse than his drunken mouth.

No wonder she was red. Camilla wisely kept her gaze away, hands fumbling in front of her.

"We'll talk later, Jun, when I've discussed it with your father," Ji-Yu said, bringing his attention back to her. He mumbled a quick agreement and watched with increasing dread as she left the room.

The silence ballooned between them. God, Camilla had seen it. She knew the truth. The lie he'd crafted, smashed to pieces by his own carelessness.

Gulping down his nerves, he said, "Why are you here?"

No longer with her pride, Camilla crept inside and headed towards the side with the birch shelves. "Sports tape. You… have a lot of it here that I can use."

Sports tape, right. For climbing. Roy fiddled with the hem of his shirt and tried to fan his stupid Schreave blush away, but it was persistent, and his mind replayed that moment when Camilla's eyes laid on his. He stuffed the equipment back into the sacks just for something to do.

"I-I'm really sorry. I should've knocked." She gesticulated to the door, to him, but wouldn't look. "I could go, and you could get Her Majesty back, if you want to continue whatever you were, er, doing. I'm sorry—"

"It's fine, I promise." He held up his hands. "We were just sparring. Mother's angry, so we boxed to blow off steam."

Her face went red, and it only made his red too. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Promise me you won't tell the other girls?"

If it were possible for her face to turn redder, it did. "What?"

"Don't tell the other girls I don't have a ripped six pack."

Camilla did nothing for a beat. Then she burst out laughing. Wild and unrestrained, like bird song in the morning light.

"W-What?" he stammered.

"I'm sorry, Roy. It's just… why?" She crossed her arms and regarded him strangely. "Why would you want to lie about it?"

He smoothed down the shirt across his ab-less chest. "I _was_ sculpted a few months ago, for the record, but my party habits and then this Selection put a damper in my gym routine, and so my abs just whittled away to a regular man chest." Heat blistered his cheeks. "And girls think abs are hot, right? So I just told everyone I still had them. No one believed me, anyway."

She clasped a hand around her mouth again, stifling her giggles. "You know, we value _honesty_ more than _hot abs,_ Roy. Sure, we like a good-looking man, but it's not a must. For any of us."

Her smirk lit him up. "We have actually _talked_ about whether your abs were fiction in great detail. And we all came to agreement that you were still very handsome anyway." Her hands gestured to him. "Even sweaty and gross you're handsome, and it's really not fair on the rest of us."

For a moment, Roy just stared. The Schreave blush had its way with him before, but for some reason, this got to him. Badly. He turned away, burning from the inside-out, and buried his head in his hands. This was worse than the punches.

But this was also… nicer than the punches.

Swallowing his embarrassment at the compliment, Roy turned back to her. Her breathing had shallowed like she had sparred with Ji-Yu, too. Usually stoic Camilla, unfurled as easily as a roll of crinkled parchment.

"T-Thanks. I mean it."

"You're welcome… I think." She laughed. "I just knew you were lying."

"I was drawing on real life, so _technically_ I wasn't."

"I saw your chest, Roy. No abs. No technicalities. Though, erm," she waved her hands around, "you're still quite fit, and you still have the prominent v-shape…"

"The v-shape?" Despite the blush, he grinned evilly. "My eyes are up here, you know."

"I-It's not like I could miss it!" she protested. "I walked in, and it was just _there!"_

" _Uh huh._ You probably snuck in another look to be sure."

She snorted. "Well, as I'm your Official Stage Double-Checker, I suppose it's a habit of the job."

He burst out laughing again, and something inside him shifted free.

"Yes. Right. Erm," she mumbled. "I should… I should get the tape."

The shelves were overflowing with boxes of chalk, small weights, and fingerless boxing gloves, but Camilla's fingers wove through them all, looking for the upside-down cardboard lid containing the sports tapes. Her face fell as moments passed, and Roy sidled behind her to help.

"Strange," she said. "They were here last time."

"Did you double-check?"

She gave him a withering glare. "I haven't come down here for a few days. Maybe someone moved them."

"There's a utility room in the pool area. They might have been put there."

Camilla visibly stiffened. "Oh, erm… then it's fine. I'll come back another day."

"What? It's no trouble. It's only through here." He grabbed her hand and led her towards the entrance to the pool area, and an evil thought slipped into his head. As she wasn't wearing a dress, forgoing formality for a T-shirt and shorts, there was no guilt in the idea… of pushing her into the pool.

The smell of chlorine hit first, the water's reflection like an aurora second. The lifeguard at the other end of the pool nodded his head in acknowledgment, though Roy's focus tuned into his hand. Camilla's grip was once gentle and easy, but now it strangled.

"You okay?"

A smile lifted at once. "I'm fine."

Roy pretended to put an arm on her shoulder. "We keep our spare equipment just through there" – he jerked his head at the door on the other side of the pool – "See? No trouble."

"Right. Yes—"

" _Psyche!"_ He shoved her into the water.

The splash was glorious. He guffawed as she went under. Her arms flailed.

But she didn't rise. She kicked, frantic and wild – he could see it, with growing horror, with a stone falling through him like an anchor through the sea.

She couldn't swim.

Roy dived in at the same time as the lifeguard did. Water sluiced across his arced back, over his arms as he reached for the drowning girl. Camilla's eyes were wide with terror, and at Roy's hand when he offered. Still he grabbed onto her waist and kicked off from the bottom of the pool.

The surface broke. Roy sucked in a clump of air, and Camilla clawed for it. He pushed until there were in shallower water, where Camilla could stand, but she scrabbled to escape onto solid land, coughing and spluttering.

The lifeguard rushed over to her. "Milady, are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine," she stammered, though she was anything but.

Roy was too wound up to reflect on what he'd done. He let the lifeguard ask the necessary questions and perform checks, and only stopped shaking to offer her a towel. Remarkably, Camilla wasn't crying, but she was staring wide-eyed at the pool like it could consume her.

Like it almost had.

This wasn't just an inability to swim.

"You're afraid of water."

The look on her face confirmed it. He'd just shoved a hydrophobe into a goddamn _pool._

When the lifeguard let her go free, with a polite request to visit Dr Nagi in the infirmary, Camilla all but bolted from the room. Roy was almost sure she didn't want him anywhere near her, but he had to make sure she was okay.

She hadn't gone far. Stuck to the far wall in the hallway, Camilla breathed like it was her first in many years. Her dark hair clung to her blotchy brown face, droplets leaving trails down her cheeks like tears. Roy warily padded towards her, his feet leaving prints on the carpet.

"I-I'm so sorry." He flushed. "I had no idea. I thought I was being funny—"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine," Camilla said quickly, but not without insistence. "Really. I'm okay. I'm sorry if I reacted out of line."

"Reacted out of line? You nearly drowned!"

"You couldn't have known."

His heart ached. Why was she so determined not to make a big deal out of this? Out of nearly dying? "This isn't okay, Camilla. You're right that I couldn't have known that, but why didn't you tell me when I led you into the room?"

She hesitated before saying in a small voice, "I didn't want to let you down. To… to disappoint you, or make you think I was a stick in the mud."

"So you willingly let me drag you into the pool area when you're scared of water, just to make me happy?" It was as baffling as it sounded. "No… that's just… please don't ever think you have to do something you don't want to do to make me happy."

But she watched him cautiously like everything he said was a calculated move. Something to trip her up. Roy's shoulders fell at the motion.

Had Camilla… always thought like this?

"C-Can I hug you?" he said suddenly.

She blinked rapidly. "W-What? But why?"

"Because I want to give you one," he said. "Because I think you need one."

She swallowed audibly, and opened her arms. When they hugged, Roy slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled close and hoped never to let go. To convey a sense of belonging and connection that she deserved more than the earth deserved fair skies.

"I like you for your wit, your honesty, your ability to challenge me and your gentleness of heart." A smidgen taller than he, the wet tips of Camilla's hair caressed his cheeks. "Please don't ever think you need my approval. You don't have to impress me. I like you for you, nothing else. That's why you're still here."

Silence.

Then wet arms slid across his shoulders. Pulled him tighter and closer.

"Thank you."

He wasn't sure how long they stood they, wrapped up in each other's embrace. Eventually, Camilla pulled away, cheeks wetter, blotchier. His heart lurched again – she'd been crying. So quietly he didn't hear, even so close.

On instinct he reached up and palmed the tears off her face. She started to giggle at that.

"I-I'm a mess. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, either." He winced. "I'm the one who is sorry. I did nearly kill you."

She laughed again, and it rumbled down her arms like shake of the earth.

"Yes, you did." That glint in her eyes. "I'm so going to get you back for it."

"I will gladly take a pie to the face and have the photos spread on Instagraph."

"You're going to have to do better than that."

"You can choose then. I'll willingly accept my fate."

"Are you sure _the prince_ can handle it?"

"I handled the climbing very well," he said, grinning.

She snorted. "Scar says otherwise."

"Hey. All the ladies love a scar."

"Just like all the ladies love your abs."

The noise of amusement he made was not attractive, yet, in front of Camilla, who was also snort-laughing, he really didn't mind. His chest burned, and, blushing, he stepped away, shivering as the air peppered up his bare arms.

"Yes. Okay." For some reason, his tongue stuck to his mouth. Still, he offered an arm. "I'll walk you to the infirmary?"

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Okay."

Sopping wet, they linked arms.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

"So… you nearly drowned a Selected," said Rudy, completely deadpan.

In the evening before dinner, Roy was scheduled for a preliminary suit fitting for the impending masquerade ball. He'd been more than happy to oblige after a shower – Camilla had been checked (and double-checked) over, but aside from some minor shock, she was completely fine. Lucky for it. Soaking wet, they'd parted ways so she could freshen up before her own wardrobe fitting.

Roy, of course, shared his side of the tale with Rudy, and the rest of the silent tailors who were working away to pinpoint his exact measurements, and now slightly regretted his wording.

"I didn't mean to," he protested.

"Action over intention," Rudy said, sighing. "I'm just happy to hear Cami is all right."

Roy tilted his head. "Cami?"

"Yes. Cami. It's her nickname." He snorted too forcibly. "Can't a man use nicknames now?"

"It's like _Seph,_ though. You're friends with her. Didn't know you were so close to Camilla."

He smirked. "Well, I didn't try to kill her today, so as it stands I'm okay with that."

"Touché. And I didn't try, I swear." He narrowed his eyes. "You've been talking to the girls then?"

"I went to welcome them all back to the palace at their wardrobe fitting. Somehow, I ended up staying for an hour to hold pins in place. They're still going, I heard."

One of the tailors snorted. "I'm surprised you made it out alive."

"I didn't," Rudy clarified, holding up his left pinkie finger. There was a bead of frozen blood right on the tip. "Stabbed by a rogue sewing needle."

"Ouch," said another tailor.

Ignoring it, Roy huffed. "Well? What do you think then? You've had enough time to get to know them."

Rudy made a face. _Not with all these people._ It was no trouble for Roy to ask them for privacy, and the tailors left them in the workshop alone.

"So?" Roy prodded, stepping off the pedestal.

Rudy looked even more reluctant to talk. "If I'm honest… they're all lovely."

"Well, that makes this so much easier."

"I get it," said Rudy. "You introduced me to them to help you find the spy. Two heads are better than one. But the boundaries are so blurred." He shook his head. "You should've seen them in wardrobe, Roy. They were all so excited and happy and cohesive. Even Cami, when she was told everyone how you nearly killed her."

"I didn't—"

"But none of them showed signs of… of secretly hating you, or your family. None of them were bitter or resentful. When Gail came in, they all cheered and proposed a glitter fight. They were just… girls, embracing their friendships, hoping to win a prince."

He swallowed, clenched his fists. Why couldn't this be easy? Why couldn't they wear their hatred on their sleeve, like he was wearing his heart on his?

Roy pushed away the rolls of fabric and sat on one of the worktops. "It was never going to be obvious. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do," Rudy snipped, "but this is looking for the impossible. We're going to have to do more than just wait for her to slip up. She's not going to do that. We have to draw her out."

He sank. "Mother said we should start thinking of ideas."

"Do you have any?"

"Not really."

Rudy massaged his temples. "It's a shame our trap with the Day of Dates didn't work. Or that it wasn't given time to work. I suppose the whole Prince Barnabas-Alexander swap fiasco would put them off from meeting elsewhere either."

"If Acketeer's any indication, the rebels seem desperate to come here—"

He cut himself off. If they were desperate to come here…

Maybe he should let them?

"Rudy, I think you just gave me an idea."

* * *

 **A/N:** Greetings all, and sorry for the wait! There's so much going on here that makes me lol... Roy is so tactless sometimes... :P I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Bookshop job goes well, thank you for all your appreciation! It's so weird because we tend to get books really early? Like, weeks early sometimes? Two Dark Reigns by Kendare Blake doesn't come out until the 4th October here and we already have a copy. It's nuts! (I also hid it because I want it... sorry customers lol) Every time I get the chance I put the Selection series face out too... it's what she deserves...

Regarding update schedule: my rota is willy-nilly atm and even though I'm supposed to be on alternate weekends, I've been working _every_ weekend, hence the no-shows. This should be fixed soon, but I can't give a firm date as to when I'll be able to post next. I'll try to get another out in two weeks but if not, check my profile sporadically for updates.

As always, thank you for your patience, for reviewing, favouriting and following, and for reading along.

And remember...

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 63.

~ GWA

NTT: "I-I think I'm starting to feel something for you."


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